I Hated Being Myself
by Ukara07
Summary: Christine Daae is the youngest of four, and the only girl. With both her parents dead, and her brothers gone, she flees. Set in America 1911.
1. What Happened?

Chapter one

Once more, I felt the steam from the pot of stew enter my sleeve and I wanted very much to fold it back. However, Raoul was standing in the living room and any movement of the like would attract his unwanted attention to me. I never quite knew what he found to be so interesting, watching his best friend's sister making supper as she did every night. Thomas never did anything about it, probably because he barely noticed it. He, like my other two brothers, liked to pretend that I did not exist. I would have liked to do the same in return, but then the three of them would not eat, and this they would notice.

We lived with our father in New Jersey. I was short, at age nineteen, and stood five feet and one inch. This would not have been too horrible were it not for people such as Raoul, who was a complete eleven inches taller than myself and enjoyed to celebrate this daily.

Noting this attention I was giving to Raoul, I banged the spoon against the pot, feeling his eyes on me once more. If only my brothers might ever bother me with their attention! Despite these grievances, I never could bring myself to complain.

Michael, the oldest of us, was not so cruel. Usually, he had the final opinion on most matters among my brothers, as the eldest does most of the time. He was twenty-six-years-old and his main interest was sailing. In fact, the following day he was to leave us to go to sea as an apprentice. He had been studying since he was my age, and our short exchanges of conversation made me feel angrier that I would never go to college. I liked to think that because his education exceeded James', he would not agree with the foolishness James invented. Nevertheless, whenever James would start to insult, Michael joined.

James was a mean, terrifying monster that reminded me daily that Mother was dead and that it was my fault. He lived to remind me that she had died giving birth to me, and every time I looked at him or thought about him, I was reminded. His insults were sometimes meant to be for humor, and sometimes they were serious. It depended on James' mood. He was twenty-three and I hated him the most. At this moment, he was at work, as it was his turn at Father's furniture shop. He would be home only a little later than Thomas and Father had arrived, because they liked to keep their hours short. Nobody bought furniture at suppertime, anyway, I supposed.

Thomas was my last brother. He agreed with James and Michael, and was just as commanding. He and James worked at Father's store, and that was that. He and I were sometimes quite alike in our passivity, but he would never see it this way. His friend, Raoul, lived across the street and came to visit nearly everyday. Raoul behaved more conceitedly than my three brothers put together, and maybe it was my imagination, but I always felt his glances were on me.

Father once told me that my mother was lacking height, as well. He was our moderator. He never appeared hurt at James' comments but I knew must have been. He had his share of quarrels with James and Michael about me, but he never mentioned Mother. James never ceased to talk to Father about Mother as though she were never his wife. To James, Mother was only his mother.

I did not recall complaining to anyone. I tried not to, as it was not my place. My brothers made it clear to me where I belonged at home. And, my father's passivity made matters no better. He was quiet most of the time, but he was my only friend in the house, despite that as I was born, his wife died. I never stopped wondering why my brothers were in more grief about this than my father was, or whether they just showed it more. This event marking my entrance to the Daae home only pushed me to the back if it and out of everyone's way. The back of the house, by the way, was our kitchen.

That made five for supper. No, I had forgotten Meg, who was knocking at the door. She was my friend from school, and while my own father was not pushing me towards marriage, Meg's family was pushing her. Raoul was also to come to supper. We should have charged him money for eating supper with us as often as seven times a week. As Thomas opened the door for Meg to find James behind her as well, I brought supper to the table. Raoul put his hands together in delight as he made his way to his seat, next to wherever I chose to sit. I greeted Meg and went to sit near Father, but Meg had seated herself at Michael and James' end of the table. I moved towards her and sat, and was abruptly followed by Raoul to my other side. He grinned and whispered, "Christine, I notice that your feet barely touch the ground."

His remark was not much true because my feet _did _touch the floor, but I glared at him. He gave me a smirk and turned to Thomas. "Your sister is no fun to be around."

"Yes," James said. "She may kill you."

He had to remind me. "Father!" I pleaded.

"James," he said sternly.

"I am sure that this is not my place to say," Meg spoke up, "but don't you all think that this topic has outgrown you yet?"

"Mind your own business, girl!" James snapped bitterly.

Everyone ladled stew into his own mouth for a while. Was it not enough now, that I could not invite a friend to supper without James having to torment her as well?

There was a knock at the door. All eyes turned to Meg.

"That is my father. May I be excused?"

"Yes, you may, Meg," my father said.

Michael got up. As he turned his head to nod to Meg, I noticed his blond hair shaking, which he had a habit of doing. Mother had blond hair.

"Good-bye and goodnight, Meg," I called from my chair.

"Goodnight and thank you for the meal."

As Michael walked her to the door, Raoul and James snickered. Thomas joined in after a few seconds.

"What could be so funny?" Father asked.

"Nothing," Raoul replied. He glanced at me and excused himself. I then excused myself and went to my room.

We were not so rich. Father sometimes liked to jokingly consider us upper class, but we were really in the middle. I sat on my plain bed in my plain bedroom. I hardly owned anything. Very little ornamentation. One pair of earrings and no other jewelry that a girl would have. There was a small assortment of clothes in my closet, only two dresses, two skirts and four blouses. My life was a daily schedule: get up; bathe; dress; make breakfast; eat breakfast; clean up breakfast; run some of Father's errands, as my brothers had their own to do; prepare, eat, and clean up dinner; clean the house; and by now Raoul would be over and I would have to put up with the taunts and make supper. Thomas usually helped with the clearing of the supper table, and Raoul usually helped to eat supper! After supper would be the only time to myself. I had done this ever since I could hold a plate in my hand. Of course, Raoul did not start to tease me until I was fourteen, when I had stopped growing.

I undressed and slipped under my covers. Just then James shouted, "Christine, are you asleep yet?"

"No, James." I heard no response, so I went to bed. It had been another long and boring day in my life. Sometimes I thought of change, but there was no money for me to go to school. James and Thomas had to cut two years of their higher education for each other. They would never do as much for me. Even finishing school would have sounded more exciting than staying home and cooking all day long for five male mouths, but the idea of finishing school made me feel more like a piece of Father's furniture needing polish, and not like a person. But never mind "_person"_ around here.

"Good-bye, Thomas," Michael said the next morning. "Good-bye, Raoul." He gave Raoul a hug, as he had done with Thomas. "Good-bye, James. Good-bye, Father."

A chorus of good-bye's followed, including my own. But Michael did not say anything to me. He glanced at me, picked up his baggage and left. After James closed the door behind Michael, Raoul prided sarcastically. "Hey! Now I can put my feet up at dinner!" as he usually sat across from where Michael sat. "Of course," he added, looking at me, "Your feet don't reach…"

"Stop it," I cut off. I did not feel like putting up with his jokes. I was disturbed. Why did Michael not say good-bye to me? I knew that even though he felt I had killed Mother… I was his sister! He should love me for that! He should have said something to me before he left. I must have underestimated his hatred for me. But this was really ridiculous…

"Christine, wash the breakfast dishes. Stop standing there, staring into space," James ordered. "Oh, by the way, Meg sent this package for you."

_What_, I thought to myself, muttering at the same time. "She lives right next door, why did she not come here and give it in person?" My nineteenth birthday had passed already, in September. It was not a birthday present, for sure.

I read the card.

Friday, 10 February, 1911 

_Christine,_

_I have married yesterday and moved this morning. The gray one is Magic, and the brown one is Bright. They are boys._

_Good-bye, _

_Meg_

_Married? Moved? _What was this about? I had no idea she was doing anything that involved marriage and a husband… What on Earth was she talking about?

I opened the box, which James had set on the kitchen counter. Down inside were two kittens, one gray and one brown. They both were gazing up at me with eyes yellow and curious. The gray one, I guessed was Magic, stood on his back legs and looked out of the box, with one paw on the rim. He jumped out and sniffed around. The other cat, Bright, was curled up asleep. My opening of the box awoke him, but he did not seem to care about his new surroundings.

"Why did she leave?" I mumbled.

"She thought you were too short."

I did not need to turn around to see that it was Raoul. He had enough conceit in his voice for me to tell it was he from miles away.

To my surprise, he put his hand on my shoulder. I turned around and looked at him.

"You know I'm only joking."

This time, I carefully looked at him. He seemed oddly different. I pulled myself away and towards the cats.

"Now you're turning from me? Don't hide. I know what you're thinking," he said. I felt icy, and noticed that there was nobody else around. A horrible thought raced through me: _He likes me._ I shook my head in order to erase the thought.

"Don't deny it. I know you better than you know you. And you know what I'm talking about."

I ran from the room, cold, frightened and anxious. Raoul was making moves that I did not like. How could I like him, anyway? He was so rude! Oh, and a self-centered, hungry pig!

"Uh, Christine?" It was James, standing in the doorway of my bedroom." Do you have ribbon?"

"What ever for?"

"Just give it to me if you have it." He looked stern.

"Oh, all right." I ran to my desk drawer to get it. "Is this enough?" I asked, holding about a yard of ribbon.

"Perfect." He grabbed it and left. I did not receive any thanks for it, but I was used to this.

For the rest of the day, Raoul acted more of himself. He joked; they laughed; Father scolded; I scowled. A normal routine without Michael.

After supper, Father came to my room. He sat on the edge of my bed. "Christine, we must talk."

"Yes, Father, you know that I am listening."

He came straight out with it. "What do you plan to do with your life?"

My hands fumbled with each other. I had never been given this question before.

"You have not lived half of it yet," he continued. "Have you thought of our arranging a marriage for you?"

"But," I protested. "To whom? Do I have to?" The idea of marriage did not appeal to me right then. "Can't I just stay here?"

"What happened to Meg? Do you know why she did not tell you about her plans to leave? Are you in the least upset?"

"I hate her!" I shouted, feeling as though it were the only noise in a large, empty room.

"There is no need to shout, Christine."

"She promised. She said that we would go to each other's weddings, meet each other's husbands… Instead… And I thought that things like marriage take time! How did she do it all in one night and behind my back? And she lives across the street! It's nearly impossible! How could she do such a thing and tell me all about it in a note the size of a… a… "

"I have absolutely no idea. She must have had a good reason for secrecy."

"But without _me_?"

"I know. She did it behind your back."

" She had no right," I said, firmly and blandly.

"Maybe her husband…" Father looked away at his hands, perhaps a little embarrassed.

"She had no right.," I repeated.

Father made a face of distaste. "Christine, you know how rude interrupting is-"

"SHE HAD NO RIGHT!" I screamed, finding myself standing on my bed in my nightgown, tears pouring out of my eyes.

Father looked terrified. "Christine, calm down."

"Fine," I said briskly. "I'll calm down. But you can't tell me what to do. I'll marry if I want. I'll show Meg that I can break a promise, too."

He was confused as the rage continued. "Christine," he whispered in shock. His eyes were saddened and calm.

I climbed off of the bed quietly and hugged him gratefully. "Please don't leave me," I cried, sobbing like a child.

"Why would I leave?"

"Just don't. I love you, Father."

"I love you too, Christine. Go to bed."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight." He sounded exasperated as he left my bedroom, and maybe worried as well.

I awoke the next morning on the sound of footsteps. They sounded like James'. I guessed that he had bathed; the bathroom was next to Father's room, where he came from. And the footsteps went past my room; he is the only one with a room on my left.

Next, I rose from of bed and as I walked past my father's room, I paused and gawked at him, he was lying on the floor on his stomach. A knife was stuck in his back.


	2. All Alone

I just wanted to clear some things up. Erik and Raoul are OC here, they have kind of switched roles.

And music is not a benefactor of this phic.

Chapter 2

Following this, I heard a loud noise, a scream, and felt the stretch of my own throat the one responsible.

Thomas first appeared, then James. Both stood and gaped. Thomas was in his night clothes, James in his day clothes. Father had obviously just stood… I held my hand out, both of them, and felt Thomas catch me just as I fell and saw the room no more.

When I awoke the room was empty. Well, I thought it was when I actually sat up. The man next to me at my aid was a police officer. I saw that Father was no longer there, and I was surrounded by men. I felt the color rush to my face, then from it.

"Oh no, she's going to faint again," someone said.

"I - I am fine," I protested, "Where is he?"

"Who?"

"My father."

"He was removed, miss. They took him to the police station to be checked. Do you now what happened?"

Having just woken again, my head was about clear again, but it would not stay this way. "Is he dead?"

"Well, we regret to say it… yes, miss, but do not-"

I found myself on the floor. "Oh my God!"

"Do you know anything?"

I was not quite sure what to say and what I did say. I knew that "I woke up" and "was about to go to the bath…" my head pounded with fright… "and as I passed by I saw him …" but was it real?… "on…" …A sob tried to choke me… "on the floor like…" but… how… "like that…" I saw the floor where Father had been.

"Do you have a hint of who-"

Slowly, I met the officer's eyes. "No I do not otherwise I would tell you!"

"Did you do it?"

"Why in God's name would I kill my father!" I shrieked.

"I take that as a no," the policeman mumbled to himself. Upon seeing this, Thomas shook his head.

Someone helped me to my feet and I found myself in my room again, dressing. I heard my own incoherent speech and saw my things around me but at the moment wanted more than anything to not be there at that moment. I struggled into my clothes and fell through the door, sobbing and confused. More and more people were everywhere. There were too many in this house. People brought cameras and my eyes fell further into uselessness as flashes of people became literal flashes.

The police having asked me to stay out of the room of his murder, I wandered into the kitchen and stared around at the counters. They were too clean. I needed to make breakfast; that was it. I opened cabinets, peered inside, and closed them again, one by one, until I ran out of them. Frustrated, having found nothing, I left the kitchen.

I found Raoul and his mother and father seated in the living room, and sat in a chair at the dining table. I could hear little of what they were saying, so I left the dining room and found myself face to face with James, on his way to Raoul and his family. I stood before him, waiting for him to say something to me, my hands holding the sides of my skirt, waiting, but he did not.

I waited.

He stared down at me, waiting as well. He wanted me to move for him. That was not why I was waiting.

He would not do it.

Raoul's mother left at noon, having made our meals for us, and I was left to wander about. Throughout this day, Thomas and James were rarely in the house. They were, to my understanding, answering questions and taking care of Father's shop. Policemen had tried to ask me questions, but I did not even know what I was saying at all. I felt want but did not know what I wanted, because I did know that something was missing.

The next morning I awoke and got up to make breakfast. As I began, Raoul walked in. The wheat cream was cooking, the cherries were washed, the plates out. Could he not simply leave? Why was he always here? Forks from the drawer, put them on top of the plates, walk the plates to the table. Set one for Raoul on the left, one for Thomas next to him, Raoul was watching, one for me across from Thomas, unless Raoul moved as I sat, one for James next to me… then I held the fifth plate in my hand. Raoul cleared his throat.

"Oh, yes," I whispered. It had been one long, restless night of sleeplessness.

Then Thomas passed through and said, "Raoul, are you ready?"

"Yes," Then I notice that Thomas was holding several bags. Raoul left to the hallway and returned with more bags.

"What are in those bags?" I asked.

"All of Thomas's things. He is moving, you know."

I brought Father's plate closer to me. "No, I did not know. Why-"

"Because I haven't got a reason to be around here while Father is not."

"And you?" I asked Raoul.

"I'm leaving, too. And so is James," Raoul said, rather casually. I hugged Father's plate, and tried to breath as I looked with more effort, as though this would make me hear better. As my throat dried, I felt that I could not breathe.

"I - _me_ - I will be alone!"

"Shut up, Christine. You're nineteen years old, should have been married so you've got someone to guide you," Thomas said.

"What should I do? I cannot live alone, can I?"

"Of course you can," James said as he entered the room, "It is not breaking any rules, you know, having a girl live alone."

"Must you all go?"

"Why should we stay? Father's store is taken care of, the house is yours, why should we stay?" Thomas asked.

"I just do not want you to leave. I couldn't possibly bear it. I love you all . . ." But once I said those words, I wanted to swallow them.

They all began laughing.

"Are you meaning to tell me that after all these years we've been teasing and horrifying you-" Raoul began.

"You _love_ us?" James asked in disbelief. They continued laughing, while I blushed in rage. I did not love them, not as friends or brothers. They did not care about me at all, and I did not like them. They were so cruel; how could I have said such a thing? Did I say it so they would stay and take care of me? Although they never had?

Then I realized that I was crying right in front of them. That increased their laughter. I ran from the room.

"You'll be all right!" Raoul shouted. A silent pause followed.

No, I will not, I argued silently. I got up after a few moments and walked casually into the kitchen.

"Shall I pack you anything to eat?"

"Oh, no," James said, "We do not need anything. We're men. We can take care of-" but I threw my hands to me ears. I knew what he was going to say; I could not take care of myself - which I did believe- and then they would all laugh.

I looked at their smirking faces, helplessly. "Go," I whispered. Then I left the room.

The next few mornings I got up and thought of the horrible fact that there was no one that loved or cared for me. I sat in bed each day, rethinking everything and every word. I had no way of getting in touch with any of my brothers or Raoul or Meg. Then again, why should I speak to them? They had turned on me.

My whole life after I had been deserted was too empty. A year passed, I celebrated my twentieth birthday alone, and I remained alone, but not so afraid. I did know that most women my age had small children, but I told myself that this was not at all important if the only person who knew of my existence was myself. I passed my time by either cleaning the house or walking through town and buying the weekly newspaper and reading every word. I never found myself to be boring. Magic and Bright kept me company. Never did I laugh, nor cry.

It was not until another year passed when it occurred to me: There was a tremendously large hole sitting in front of me - and I was not going to let it sit empty. I wanted to, had to, fill this hole.

One day, I was reading the newspaper, of course, and I decided I should leave, too. If my brothers were so happy in their new lives that they did not want to come back, then maybe leaving would help me, as well.

I packed most of my things that were of importance and that fit into a large cardboard box. In went my clothes and a blanket. Then the box was full. It was not too big for me to carry in my hands, fortunately.

My first desire was to obtain a passport and a visa, then to make my traveling plans. I looked in the newspapers and traveling brochures for any departures of ships to England. Within reasonable price, I found one and my decision took less than a second. Before I knew it, I had made arrangements for myself to go to a different world across the ocean.


	3. The Magic

I took a train all the way to New York City, my first time there, where a British ship, called the _Magic_, was preparing to leave. As they did not allow animals with third class, I had to sneak my cats aboard in another cardboard box.

As I walked along the gangway, I glanced at the top most deck. Several people were looking down upon the crowd. Some wore traveling clothes, others wore uniforms. I continued studying them, trying to see if all of the passengers were wealthy or not. Then I realized that I was blocking the gangway.

"Move on, little girl, make haste," a voice said behind me. I walked on as quickly as I could while struggling under the weight of the box in my arms. "Hurry, then. I must get my family to my room," the man repeated. He spoke his English with an accent; he was probably from a different country.

"I am walking as fast as I can." I gained speed, feeling immediately guilty for causing trouble for a stranger.

"Is your package there too heavy for you, then? I can carry it for you," he offered.

"That would be nice, but…"

"No problem, then." He stopped and waited for me to do the same. "Here are my things, rather light, as you see." I turned around and met a man with long hair coming out of his hat, and kind eyes. "Go on. My room is E-112."

"So is mine."

"Oh, then, come with me and my wife and children."

I noticed that behind him were a woman and two children. One boy, one girl. An average family. Unlike mine, consisting of three brothers and a sister, no parents.

"Come along, then. You must be the other girl the ticket man was talkin' about," he said, grabbing the box. He carried it with ease. We walked the rest of the way inside, another uniformed man took our tickets. We found our room and claimed our bunks, unpacked, and they let me take their children up top deck to see the departure. It turned out that Phillip was shyer than Agatha, his sister. She was quiet the whole way up the six flights of stairs, but once we got up top, she pulled herself onto the rail and exclaimed, "Oooh, look at all them people down there!"

"Those people, not them people," Phillip corrected timidly.

"They are watching us leave," I reported. I turned my head around. The ship was not so big. It had two big smokestacks. A large blow from the whistle came along. I actually felt the leviathan moving. Astonished, I jumped.

"You ever traveled?" Agatha asked.

"No, never."

"We have twice. We're Englandish."

"English, Agatha, English," Phillip corrected.

"English," Agatha groaned.

Just then I saw a face that caught my attention as it came by. It looked like Raoul. He seemed to be coming to me.

"Oh, we must go now," I told the children.

"But…" they protested.

"Now," I said firmly. I rushed them towards the front of the ship. 'Raoul' was coming closer, appearing to be looking at me. I kept telling myself that it might not be him, that there were other tall blond men in this world, but I still rushed on through the blurry crowd, clutching the children's hands. I reached a hallway that extended the width of the ship. I pulled Agatha and Phillip through the hallway. In it was a wheel and other devices used for steering the ship. What would I know?

Out of nowhere, a man in uniform stopped me. He was one of the ones I had seen from the gangway.

"What are you doing here?" He carried the same accent that Agatha and her family did.

"I-

"Crew members only," he said, rather sourly.

"I'll be going," I said.

"Out!" he snapped. I gripped the hands of the children and ran the direction I was facing, the opposite end of where I had come from. Outside again, I was lost. Well, I felt like it. Then I remembered that the ship was going to have the same thing on both sides. This side was rather empty of people.

We made it back to our room eventually, but then we were called to dinner. We finished unpacking and decided that I would devote the next day to exploring the ship with the children. Their parents, Patrick and Clara, chose to stay in the general room and meet others. That was not what I enjoyed doing. Then again, I was going to London to make a new life for myself. It was rather unusual because normally Europeans came to America to seek fortune! And I realized, what was wrong with America? Did I find America to not suit me because Father had died and I needed to find new ground, literally? Oh, well. I needed to forget about what had happened at home. But then, what was I to do in London? I had but enough money to get to the place, not to get a house! Should I become a seamstress? A waitress? A stewardess? I needed money, and quickly, too. I did not have any intentions of living in the streets.

The very next day I took Agatha and Phillip up to the top deck, first. We looked for interesting sites. It would have been more enjoyable, as Agatha commented, if the sky were not dark as though the morning wanted to stay night with all of these clouds.

The boat deck, as it was called, had all the lifeboats numbered to fifteen. Not many people aboard, I assumed. There was the wireless room and the officers' rooms, and little else. No staterooms. I took them down the stairs. At the bottom, there was a sign that said "A-Deck." We found first class rooms and some space for strolling. We went to the next deck, B-Deck. This was the well deck. There were more first class rooms and the first class dining room, which we crept through as it was empty and we did not want staff to see three third class passengers. We found our way out of the dining room. Then a steward told me, "Please go to your room and wait for instruction. We will have a lifeboat drill." He left.

"All right, children", I said as the steward went to tell other passengers the news, "We must go to your parents now."

"No!" Agatha cried. "I don't want to leave. I want to watch."

"Your parents will worry. And we must have the drill." I had heard of such things before.

"But we never finished," Phillip protested lightly.

"Tomorrow. We have thirteen or fourteen days."

We made our way to our room. The stairwells were crowded. I guessed that the other passengers were told the same as I had been. In our room, I told the children's parents what I had been instructed to do. A different steward sent us back upstairs to the boat deck. There, as I stayed next to one boat, numbered "ten." Somehow, I lost the family I was with. They were gone. But still I stood by the boat.

About a few minutes later, the same officer who had yelled at me showed up and other men began opening the boat. When it was ready to be filled, the officer shouted, "Come forth and step in, please."

I stepped in and took a seat next to the rear. After the boat was full, that officer got in. He shouted, "Lower away!" Right after he held his hands out, I felt the boat jerking underneath me. It just so happened that then I noticed how gray the sky appeared. It did not look so suitable for boating on the Atlantic. But it was cold, too, as it was only February. As the boat touched the water things only felt colder. Then the ropes were cut, and the officer came and sat next to me. I glared at him, but he did not see. Someone began to complain that the ropes were not supposed to be cut during a drill. The officer told him that in a drill, one must pretend that the ship is on fire and all precautions must be taken. He began to steer the boat away from the ship, for not only did they want us to know how to be lowered in a lifeboat, but we, the crew in the lifeboat, also needed to know how to maneuver one. The directions were to obviously stay close to the ship.

I asked the officer, "Excuse me, but how long will we be here?"

He looked at me with curiosity first, then confidence. "Not long," he replied rather calmly. " Where are the two little ones you were with yesterday?"

"They are with their parents." I did not realize how odd it was that he just had tried to strike up a conversation with me until I had answered him.

"Officer!" a woman shrieked. "Sir! I felt a raindrop!"

"So did I," a man shouted. A round of "Yes" and "So did I" followed. I myself felt the rain, and so did the officer. The wind, as though it heard us, unfortunately decided to grow, and the waves bobbed the boat harder. I found myself clutching the gunwale in vain, trying to balance myself. The officer grabbed my hand at one point, and when he did, I turned right to him to find him staring right back at me. The rain fell in sheets. I had never seen a storm start so suddenly. I looked around to find that we had been blown further from the ship. The officer started to scream orders to row back, but we seemed to be overpowered by the wind and water. I felt cold, wet, my clothing was cold and wet, and I was tired, excited and worried at the same time. I was of no use to the crew, so I watched the other passengers scream and intervene with the work needed to be done. Being small, I shrank back and tried to stay out of the way of the increasingly angry and nervous officer. The _Magic _seemed to shrink back as well, as we edged farther and farther away. The rain did not cease to penetrate further into my bones, disabling my cape to keep me warm any longer. I had curled into a ball against the wall of the boat to wait the storm out, disabled, confused and frightened.

…………………………………………………

When it was over, I was not able to understand how much time had passed. The sun was positioned behind us, as it had been before the storm, but this time there was no ship to be seen at all. Had it happened all so fast, or had we been in that little boat for hours?

The officer was shaking my hand, trying to attract my attention. "And you. Are you all right, miss?"

"I- I suppose I am." I needed a handkerchief, and, now that I noticed it, new clothes. The sun was almost above us, but the winds were still faintly existent and my being entirely wet made matters worse. "Where are we?" I asked. I could not see the ship around us anywhere. "What time is it?"

He examined the sky and the sun, then his watch. "One o'clock." He was looking about him, trying to not appear panicked.

"Do you know where we are?" I pestered.

"No. No more questions, lady. I am in enough trouble."

A drop of water fell from my forehead to my nose. I huddled, or tried to, further into the wall of the boat and shivered, addressing the officer. "Are you not cold?"

"Not as cold as you look." And then he picked up a dry blanket from under another on a seat and wrapped it over my crouched, quivering self. I gazed around. There were many shivering people wrapped in blankets and coats. I looked at the bottom of the boat. There was water up to my mid-leg, seeping into my boots. I shook at the sight. Next I turned to the officer. He was shivering and mumbling to himself.

"What are we to do?" I asked.

"Wait." That was all he said. But wait for what? Wait until we saw the _Magic_? Wait for another ship? Another storm?

"Do we-"

"No, we have nothing. No compass, no food, no protection, no nothing! Now _shut up!_"

Abashed, I fell asleep.

…………………………………………………

The officer woke me up again. It was dark.

"What do you want from me, sir?"

"Do you have anything? A source of light?"

"No, now leave me to sleep." Whatever he wanted from me, I would not give. He was very rude to me. I leaned against the wall and slept. I woke again when I felt light and heat. I opened my eyes. The officer was now waving a burning blanket for attraction. I sat up and gaped. Then I noticed that light was pouring in from one side, supposing that that was the east. The officer continued waving the blanket, but I saw no other boat or ship. I wondered what else he had done while I had slept. He did not seem to know that the sun was almost there. It was hardly noticeable, but it was the one spot in the sky that was purple and not black. An hour later, the sun was completely up.

I was hungry. No one had eaten yesterday's dinner or supper. I had had only a roll for breakfast the previous day. I felt so empty. Just then, everyone else declared his or her hunger. The officer said nothing.

"Could we have stayed on the ship?" I asked.

He looked at me rather tiredly. He did not look like he wanted to talk. "Lifeboat drills are required by law now. We hadn't anticipated a storm or else the drill would have been held today." To himself, he said, "And maybe they should have listened to the _Aquitian_ when she told us about a storm."

I thought of that, and then shivered. My stomach growled. I fell asleep again for the fourth time, but woke up the fourth time by the officer. We were right in front of another ship. Not the _Magic_, though. People were being lifted aboard. I looked at the officer.

"In front of me you go," he said, pointing ahead of himself. I stood, and balanced myself with his help. They lifted me aboard in a canvas bag suspended from the top deck. The officer stayed in the boat, alone, and attached the boat to ropes hanging from the ship's lifeboat cranes. The men up top helped me aboard. Then they pulled the lifeboat up after the officer got out. I waited for him. When he got up, he asked to go see the captain. My guess was that he wanted to talk to the captain about what had happened.

Everyone in our lifeboat was taken to two staterooms. They settled in, but I chose to find that officer. I found myself curious, and for some reason, I felt that I needed to talk to him.

I made my way to the front of the ship, but was stopped short. I was hearing one of the most familiar voices in the world: Michael's. I stayed behind the wall and heard from the bridge:

"… and see if the ship is all right?" That was the officer.

"Yes," that was Michael. "The wireless shack is on the port side, after the crew's quarters." Then I heard footsteps coming towards me.

Out of the bridge stepped out an another older but young man in uniform, and with his hat, I barely recognized him. But hat or no hat, it was Michael.


	4. Two out of Three

Chapter 4

"What in the Hell are you doing here?" he demanded. I stared back in shock. "Answer me!"

"I—I decided to take a… vacation," I lied timidly.

"Where is Father?"

"He is dead," I replied flatly. I noticed the other officer standing behind Michael. He stayed silent, sensing tension, perhaps.

Michael shook his head. "Dead? What do you mean, dead? How? Why?"

"He was murdered a few days after you left. Unfortunately for me, Meg left the same day you did. Then James, Raoul and Thomas left. I spent two years in that empty old house while you and our brothers were having the time of your lives! So I left, too!"

Michael stepped back. The other officer put his hand to his mouth in shock. Michael gasped. "Who did it?"

"I do not know. I also do not know why James or Thomas never told you, either."

"Well, what's done is done."

"That's it? You do not care?" I almost screamed. I certainly cared. Father's death had ruined my whole life.

"I care. And you should go straight home. I'll take you to James, then he'll take you home."

"I don't like James. And I'll go where I want," I contradicted.

"No, you shall not, because you are a girl and you do not know anything about the world."

That stung me. I stepped back slowly, then turned around and began running to the stateroom. The officer looked at me, then Michael, and then disappeared.

Fifty yards and one story further, I still ran. As I passed through groups of people gathered to discuss the arrival of the lifeboat, I heard someone, a woman, shout, "Christine?"  
I stopped short and turned. It was Meg. But why should I speak to her?

But she came closer to me, and my feet were stuck to the deck. I stared, and she stared right back. "Christine? Is it you? My God, I have not seen you for years!"

I still did not move or talk. My heart was painfully pounding. I did not leave home to see these dreadful people again! I wanted to start anew and forget about them! But I said, "You left me."

"I had to, Christine. I married that last night I saw you."

My eyes widened. "And why couldn't I be present?" I demanded furiously.

"My parents made it a private wedding. They wanted it," Meg said.

"And your husband? Did he want a small wedding? His parents? Why did I not meet him?"

"I—I-"

"Excuse me, ladies," the officer suddenly appeared again and interrupted, pushing the two of us apart, "Shall I take you to the room? I'll let you be the first to know that this ship is taking us to the _Magic_ right as we speak. We'll be back on board and on schedule tomorrow."

I decided that this was my excuse to leave Meg. "Is the ship all right?" I asked. We started walking.

"Yes, The storm pushed the lifeboats already lowered away."

"Were all of the lifeboats lowered?"

"No, the storm came right after we got off the ship, remember?"

We were walking down stairs, when I realized that Meg was following us.

"So nobody left after us?" I asked.

"A total of five lifeboats left the ship. The other four are safely returned and we are in the process of being returned." The officer turned into another hallway, I followed, and stopped at a door. He opened it. There were at least five families squeezed in the one room.

"Where will you be staying?" I asked.

"Among you passengers."

"Christine, you may stay with me," Meg offered.

I turned to her. " I do not ever want to speak to you again," I reported bitterly.

The officer mumbled something to himself.

"Fine," Meg said rebelliously. She turned her heel and left.

That night I stayed up. I was probably the only person who had slept while we were in the lifeboat. I went to the boat deck. The lifeboats said _"S.S. Aquitian"_ on them. I strolled to the front of the boat deck. The night air stung my face, and I wished that I had not come up in such cold weather. My footsteps seemed to hurt the silence, so I slowed down and tried to walk quieter. Making noise and attracting attention was not something I had ever enjoyed.

It was a pair of two voices that stopped my walk as I approached the bridge. Another conversation. I felt I needed to listen.

"Did you tell her about us?" A female.

"No. She told me about Father's murder. Not that I did not know! James told me. What a fool!" Could that be Michael?

"Well, that other Deveroux officer told her that they would be on their ship by tomorrow, so there is no need to worry."

"She doesn't need to know, Meg." She was Meg? What about them? They had stopped talking, but I still heard something. I dared to look.

Sure enough, there was Meg facing Michael, his back turned to me. That noise was the two of them kissing. They seemed… passionate.

Meg opened her eyes. She looked straight at me. I darted as quickly as I could, like a mouse, behind the wall. Or in this case, my hole. Nevertheless, she hissed alarmingly, "Michael, she is there!"

They both turned the corner, to see me blushing angrily.

"How long have you been listening?" Michael demanded, not even the slightest bit embarrassed.

"The two of you are married?" I awed, but not in any happy way.

"When I ask you a question, you answer me, Christine."

I fumed. "I heard you discussing what fool I am. You knew of Father's murder and did not do anything about it? Doesn't that shame you?" I asked defiantly. "And you are the oldest of us!"

"Christine," Meg said calmly, "listen…"

"No!" I interrupted crisply. "I am tired of listening to everyone. I am on my own."

"You are a girl," Michael said, as though I had forgotten and he was reminding me.

"Oh, girl…… schmirl!" I sputtered. "I don't care! Leave me alone! I don't care that you are married! Do what you want!" I stormed away, wishing even more that I hadn't come up into the stinging cold weather. It hurt.

The next morning I woke to a growling stomach and a noisy room. After I ate breakfast, it was announced that all _Magic's_ passengers were to report to the boat deck. Up there was the _Magic_. Onlookers from both ships were waving to each other. The officer from our boat was ushering us to the lifeboat that we had arrived in. I noticed that both ships had stopped.

Michael showed up from behind me. He murmured, "Wait at the nearest hotel for me when you dock. I am going to take you to James."

"I am not going."

"Why are you so stubborn lately?"

Lately? I had not seen him in the longest time ever! When did 'lately' start?

I did not answer. The officer was now pushing the last of the rescued into our lifeboat. We were to be lowered down on the sea and be hauled aboard the _Magic_ as we had been onto the_ Aquitian_. I walked over to the lifeboat and he followed. After I found myself back on the _Magic_ again, and the lifeboat was pulled up to the boat deck and all the passengers were gone, I realized that I was in first class area. I had no clue as to how to get back to my room.

"Are you lost?"

I spun around. The officer was there.

"Where is your room?" he asked.

"E-112."

His face changed. "Third class area?" I nodded. He gave the directions, giving them with hand gestures. When he was finished, I thought for a moment, grasping the information.

"Thank-you," I said.

"No problem. Take care of yourself," he replied. I started on my way.

"Wow, Christine! Did you really sit a whole day in a water-filled lifeboat?" Agatha cried out in surprise after I told her and her family about my experience. I left out the part about Michael and Meg. They seemed happy that I was all right. I was glad that they were all right. They had taken their drill later that day.

The following day we continued to tour the ship. We discovered that third class passengers had less access to places on the ship. This crushed the children's hearts, but only to a small extent.

The next two days of the voyage we talked up on the boat deck. We talked about what we were going to do in England. They said that England was their home, and their life in America was not to their liking, so they were going home. I told them of my dead father. They gasped in horror and gave me sympathy. I told them that I loved my father so much that I could not stay in the empty house anymore. I also mentioned that my brothers had deserted the house. Phillip suggested that I could live with them, but I refused politely with a laugh. The next day we talked about school. They, or Agatha, said that I was lucky to be out of school.

On the final day of the trip, I helped them to finish packing up for departure. We went to the place we had entered from and waited. Then a steward opened the door. A gangway was right there. There was a small crowd and automobiles and more people and noise. I went out in front of my new friends and stepped on the English ground. Looking back at the ship for the last time, I saw that officer again, staring at me. He was smiling. I returned the smile, knowing that I would never see him again.

I was clear out of the third class area when it struck me: I had no place to immediately go to. I looked around. Other people were being picked up in cars by family or boarding trains. The place would not have seemed so new if I had a definite place to go to.

Then someone grabbed my shoulder from behind. "There you are," a gruff male's voice said. I turned and faced a big surprise: James.

"Michael sent you here, am I wrong?"

"No, well, he sent me here as you say, but I have other things to do with you."

"You sound as though I am and object and not a human."

"You're-"

"A girl?" I said, with one of my hands on my hip.

"Do you think that all girls interrupt older men?" James asked. I hated when he acted like he was the god of the world! "Now let's be going," he said authoritatively. As I followed, I looked once more at the _Magic_. The officer was still looking at me, but neither of us was smiling. James had pulled me around and in front of him. He also made it clear that he was in charge and I was not to leave his sight. I had to remind him of my age, hoping to ring a bell in his head that I was no longer a child. On the train that we boarded, he saw to it that no one else was in our compartment.

In the silence of the emptiness of the car, James asked me questions about the voyage, and answered my questions. It turned out that Michael had sent a Marconigram to the shore, which was sent to James, telling him to meet me where the _Magic_ was to be docked. I was furious at that, but I remained calm.

At the end of the train ride, James gripped my arm and literally pulled me off the train. Despite my protests, he walked very quickly through the people with my box in his hands. I was holding a separate box with Magic and Bright in it. It was a shame that two two-year-old cats could weigh so much.

He pulled me, by foot, all the way to a dark alley. He lifted **a garbage can lid** from the ground… to reveal a hole in the ground. I watched, feeling as though I had stepped into the crazy world that I read about in the newspapers.

"Hello!" James called.

"Open?" a voice answered.

"That would be nice!" James responded.

Then a rectangular piece of the back brick wall was pulled into the building. A staircase that descended into the ground came into view. The piece of brick was level with the ground, held on two railings. A man in old, tattered clothes appeared. I heard cheap, old music and masculine laughter, while I gaped in wonder.

"Inside you go," James said, pulling me by the sleeve in front of him.

"It's all right, mate," the man said in the strange accent that Agatha and the officer carried. He extended his hand to me. I clutched my cats' box still, as though it was the last of civilization that I would ever meet, and walked down the rest of the stairs.

I was in a room filled with strange, poor-looking men, all appearing to be drunk. They sat at tables, and a bar was at the back of the room. A hallway extended to the left, with doors lining each side. Another door was to my right. The room became silent as though some miracle had washed over us. All eyes fell on me. I felt like an ant.

To break the stunning silence, James said, "She's Christine."

All the men then smiled and said "Oh, yes," and nodded their heads and such, as though they knew me or were expecting me.

"She'll be coming with me," James said to the doorman. He pushed me towards the hallway and opened a door to our right. It was a bedroom, when the light was turned on.

"Why does everyone talk peculiarly?"

"What?" James set my box down.

"They sound as though they have some accent."

He shook his head to himself, as though ashamed of me. "We're in England. They're speaking English. We have the accents, not them."

I looked at the dirty, soiled carpet, feeling like a fool. "You live here?"

"Yes."

"I do not like it."

"Would I care?"

"No. Can't I live somewhere else?"

"Not unless I say so."

Wait. I was to live with him?

James was putting his things away. Done with that, he thought a bit. "Never mind. You'll live somewhere else." With the big box in his hands, he pulled me out of the room.

As we walked through, many men looked at me as though they had never seen a lady before. James then stopped to talk to someone. While I waited, another man said, "You can stay with me the night!" jokingly, and put his hand on my skirt near my hip. I winced and glared at him. He and his friends laughed and started to make jokes about me in bed with him. I felt like crying. The jokes were horrible and sex-oriented, about beds and removing blouses.

"Aw, James, your sister has no sense o' humor," the man said.

"It was not funny," I said firmly.

"It was very funny. Ha ha! You and me, together!"

He then drank some more beer or whatever was in his mug. I was thoroughly disgusted.

"Bart, tie it. She is a lady," James said.

"Well," the man called Bart said, standing up, "if she's a lady, then, I imagine she should be havin' some sex!"

I gasped in horror. As though that was all I was good for! "You dirty son of a-" but James, at the last moment, struck me. I felt like I wanted to throw every bottle of beer that was in this room at his head. I wanted to talk, but nothing came out. I wanted to hurt James, for bringing me to this horrible place, for spoiling my plans, for letting me get humiliated.

The men continued rambling on, drunk. James shoved me towards the main entrance, or so I thought. He opened that door that I had noticed earlier. It was a closet, but now I did not know whether to consider it as that. Everything here was not really what it looked like. But sure enough, James walked in a few steps, set the box down, stepped out and pushed me in.

"This is your home," he said, and so saying he closed the door.

And locked it.


	5. Hospitality

I got up after crying. He had locked it, I was sure, and no one had bothered to open it. I still heard the laughter and 'music.' There was no light. The cats were let out of their box. Lucky for them, they could see better than I could in the dark.

I was given no food. Wondering how long I was going to be in here, I pounded on the door and screamed, "Surely someone will let me out! I cannot stay here for long!" but I received no reply.

I could have counted hours, which I was positive that more than five passed next, but I had no clock and I was in pitch-black darkness. The noises died down after a while, I noticed after a nap, or however long I slept. I thought that it was sometime after midnight, because I knew that drunk men like them did not go to bed until that time.

Carefully, I stood, and as I did I almost stepped on a warm, furry lump. One of the cats, I presumed. As I gripped the door handle to pull myself up, the door flew open. As it did, I stumbled outward onto my stomach. The lights were on, but no one was in sight. _Escape. _I went back into the closet, pulled a blanket out of the bigger box, put the cats in the emptied space, and opened the brick leading to outside. Surprisingly, it made no noise. I lugged the box up the steps and did not bother closing the 'door.'

But then I heard footsteps. Instinctively, I spun around to see James with what looked like a walking cane sawed off and held like a gun. No, it was a gun. I turned around and ran. Just as I reached the other end of the alley, I heard a bang that swept me off my feet and I fell to the ground; the box acted as a shield. My knuckles, around the bottom of the box, hit the gravel with a silent bang of pain. I heard one of the cats cry.

Then, after I heard descending footsteps, I felt it. Burning, intense, massive… every big word that meant 'big' came to my mind in describing this pain. It was my left foot that could not move. I shook in both pain and fear. My leg began to hurt, even with the start of the pain in the foot. The leg was immovable for a minute.

I then forced myself up with my box despite my numbing knuckles and limped to my right, down the sidewalk blindly into the night. I was in the cold, February dark. Few lights were on. I went into another alley in the quietness. I managed to open the box with trembling fingers and after the cats jumped out, I pulled out another blanket and the pillow. The case of the pillow was pulled off and wrapped around my heel, where I felt sticky, thick fluid coming from. The blanket was pulled around me like a sandwich and I lied down, shivering. I did not care that I was sleeping on the streets now. I did not care that I was in pure darkness.

Well, not _pure _darkness. Because just then I saw a person coming towards me.

I sat up. "James? If that is you I swear I will hurt you! And I do not care that I am a girl!"

But it was not James. It was a man, all right. He walked with caution; then his figure became outlined as the light of a store across the street was flickered on. I saw that he was wearing a suit.

"Miss, I am not this James that you speak of, but I am here to help you. I am Erik Deveroux." He had the accent of Agatha and the officer and Bart. Like an English person.

"Leave me alone," I demanded bitterly.

"No, I shall not. I saw you fall. I cannot leave you here to either freeze or bleed to death and have a guilty conscience forever, so you are coming with me."

And with that, he scooped me up with ease, but I said, "My box."

"What box?"

"Surely I must own something!" I cried loudly.

"Oh, impossible to see in this dark."

Why was he out at this time, anyway?

"Can you walk?" he asked after he examined my things.

"I…can limp…or try." I pulled on my blanket around me.

"That is good enough. Now, we are going to put everything in this box and I'll carry it. You'll have to use me as a support."

"Where are we going?"

"To my carriage."

A rich man, no doubt.

Mother's family was rich, and then she married to a poorer man named John Daae.

The man took me back to where I had come from, and past. I noticed a general store across the street from the alley in which James shot me.

Now I noticed what just had happened. It hit me the same way that the bullet had: James shot me. My own brother, part of my blood, shot me. He pulled a gun and used it on me. Now my foot was bleeding in throbbing agony and I was so desperate for help that I was letting a perfect stranger take me to his house. What had I done to deserve this?

We neared a carriage with a horse attached to it. The man, well, Mr. Deveroux, assisted me inside. After we were both in, a woman sitting next to me said, "Take us home, Roger."

The pain seemed to grow more on top of what was already there. I did not get to hear who the woman was because everything then became blackened out not by the night, but by my own brain.

I smelled tea. Tea, and alcohol, and perfume… My eyes opened. I had never been in a hospital before besides my birth, and not in one with a golden ceiling with carvings on it.

"Miss?"

It was nowhere near a hospital. It was a room. One of those fancy ones with three sofas and a piano all the way on the other side. I was on one of the sofas, and an old lady with gray, curly hair was holding my wound in her hand with a wet rag in her other. The man, Mr. Deveroux, was calling 'Miss.' The younger woman was seated on a chair. The tea was in my hands. I did not know how they were holding a cup of tea and I had been in a faint.

"All right, miss. We need to know your name," Mr. Deveroux said as he sat in a chair.

"Christine Daae." I threw my head back, so weak my tea almost spilled.

"Eve," the elder woman said. "Go bring my special tearing rag."

"Yes, Mother." Eve left through a large doorway.

"Oh, Mother," Mr. Deveroux said, appearing to be annoyed. "Not your rag. Really."

"Hush, Erik."

My pain seemed to cede my heel a bit. I could hold my head up better. "What rag?"

"This rag she has," Mr. Deveroux told me. "She wants you to tear it while she puts on the medicine. It is a lot of cloths sewn together. Mother, just do it and get it over with."

Eve came back and put a heavy bundle of attached cloths into my hands.

"Does it hurt that much?" I asked, now wishing more than ever that I were not shot.

"It depends on the wound. Well, I'm off. Too much excitement. Good-night, and feel better, Miss Daae." Eve started to leave.

"Thank-you," I said. Eve nodded and went out of the room.

Mrs. Deveroux pulled my attention from Eve. "Well, then, I apologize for keeping you waiting. Let's get on with it, Miss Daae, I'll do the medication right now."

I felt that feeling that I was about to pass out.

"Now, hold still, this will hurt for a wound like this." She held my left heel and the medication-soaked rag. I was holding the other 'special' rag. She touched the medication to my skin.

"YAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!" I shrieked as the burning wand spread its 'magic,' and to my great surprise, I had ripped the cloth in two.

"Holy Jesus Christ!" Mr. Deveroux shouted, standing. His mother and I regarded him, shocked. "No, wait.," he said, his hand slapped clumsily to his forehead, "not Holy Jesus Christ. I mean—Oh God!…please forgive me for swearing in your presence, ladies." He began shaking with nervousness and took out a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his forehead. "Excuse me, Mother, Christine," and he walked out of the room.

"Does he often do that?" I asked after a silence passed.

"Put on a show? Yes, but he never swears, from what I hear. But he often gets nervous and puts on a show for me."

There was another pause before I asked, "Do you have any other children?"

"Why, yes. Two more daughters and a son, older than Erik and younger than Eve. They are with their father in France."

"Do you travel?"

"Heavens no, I get sick…" She stopped talking to concentrate on cleaning the scratches on my fingers. "Why are you asking me so many questions?"

"Honestly, I do not know. It is a habit, to ask questions to a stranger."

"Erik does that, too. When he was younger, is still young now, only twenty-three, he used to go with me to the store. When I spoke to someone, such as the storekeeper, he would strike up a conversation and talk to the stranger as though they were old friends! He still talks, never stays quiet." Mrs. Deveroux's eyes were shining. One could tell that she liked to speak about her children. Just then Mr. Deveroux walked back in. "Oh, Mother! I was only six! Little ones do such things, you know."

"Of course I know. I raised five children. I know how a young, curious mind works. Now, if you will excuse me," Mrs. Deveroux yawned, "I shall be getting to bed." Then she cleared her medicines and left I noticed that during our talk she had neatly wrapped my foot in bandage.

Mr. Deveroux was eyeing me again. He knelt next to me again.

"Mr. Deveroux?" I asked. "Am I to sleep here tonight?"

"Erik. I am Erik. Not Mr. Deveroux. That is either my brother or my father. Now, I suppose that you shall sleep here. Unless you wish to have me carry you to the guest bedroom?"

"No, that will not be necessary. I'll stay here."

He took my hand. "You seem to have much tolerance for pain. You are not even quivering the slightest bit. Are you all right?"

"No. Do you want to see how much it hurts?".

"Yes."

I squeezed his hand very hard, releasing my kept pain. Not on purpose, but he did grant me permission to. He himself faltered, bending over and barely letting out sound. "Stop! Oh, stop, please! I understand!" he pleaded quietly in a whisper.

I did, smiling slightly. He was also smiling when his face went back to normal. "I think I'm going to bed now. Do you want a light?"

"No, thank-you."

"Well, would you like something to drink? We have brandy. That takes away pain as does aspirin."

"I have never had brandy before."

"It is a bit strong, I must say, but it helps."

"No, thank you."

"More tea?"

"No, it is alright. No thank you. I am fine."

"All right, then, good night. Or good morning, in this case." Mr. Deveroux stood and let go of my hand as I heard twelve distant chimes from a clock.

"Good night, and thank you very much."

Chapter Seven

_No time. Must get going. James has a gun. Pow! The cats? Are they hurt? No, fool, you are. Where is the light coming from? It is midnight…!_

I sat up straight. Where was I? Oh, yes, I was in the Deveroux residence.

I just had spent the night with a bunch of strangers.

_Kind strangers_, I reminded myself.

I realized that I was sitting and then lay down again. What time was it? I felt so tired. Just as I closed my eyes, I heard Mr. Deveroux say, "Are you up, Christine?"

"Yes," I said, my eyes opened.

Mr. Deveroux knelt next to me. He inquired about my foot.

"It hurts a bit." I informed him, "I am not so sure that I can walk on it."

"Perhaps I may help?"

"Well, all right." I peeled the blanket off and sat up. Then, with Mr. Deveroux's aid, I stood. He helped me walk around a little.

These people were beyond 'wealthy' as I had thought so the previous night in the carriage. The living room that I had spent the night in was really one of the sides of a great hall. The ceiling reached as high as two stories, perhaps. And everywhere I turned I saw some carving or painting or decoration. I could only gawk endlessly, feeling rude and small at the same time. Then, after the hall was a kitchen surrounded by two more hallways, to the right a dining room and to the left a smaller eating room, a staircase and a toilet.

They even had an indoor toilet?

Outside the eating room, which Mr. Deveroux told me was for the family when there was no company, there was a small table and two chairs. Mr. Deveroux helped me into one. As he sat in the other, he said, "You know, I do think that we have met before, Miss Daae. I mean, Christine. Well…"

"It is alright. You can call me whatever."

"Christine. You are American. When did you come here?"

"I just came here… I just arrived yesterday."

He put his hand to his chin. "I feel like I know you. Wait, you just came here yesterday. On what ship did you come?"

"The _Magic_."

"I work on that ship! I must have seen you somewhere. What class were you traveling?"

"Third."

"Were you in my lifeboat when we had that drill?"

The officer! It was him!

"Yes!"

"You sat next to me… Yes!" He stood. "I remember now!" Then he sat again. "Excuse me. It is just strange that we should meet again. Why did I not realize it?"

"For the same reason that I did not, either."

He smiled and changed the conversation. "Where will you live?"

I thought about that one for a minute. Where did I live now? "Well, I do not know. I made no plans, which I now find very stupid of me as I have nowhere to go."

"Do you have anywhere in mind? Somewhere in specific?"

Did I? But where? There was no one to go to, no place to go.

"Or you can stay here and get yourself some sort of work."

"I don't want to be a burden upon you and your family," I said firmly.

Then Eve appeared in the doorway. "Top of the morning, shall I go make breakfast? It is eight past nine," she announced cheerfully. "Look how precise I am. Erik's ship behavior is wearing onto me."

"I shall help," I said, attempting to stand.

"No, you shall not," Mr. Deveroux said as he gently pushed me back into the chair. "You can barely walk."

"Christine, I think that you should dress first," Eve suggested.

"Where is my box?"

"In the guest bedroom upstairs."

"I shall go."

"Not alone," Mr. Deveroux insisted.

"You wish to—" I said.

"No!" he stammered, blushing. "Absolutely not! No, no, no! I mean, I can take you to the room, but I do not have to stay…"

I smiled, feeling a bit sorry for implying what I just had implied. "Thank you." He helped me out of the dining room. Eve began breakfast.

At the stairs, though, we stopped and looked up. Then, without my notification or his sister's, Mr. Deveroux picked me up and carried me up the stairs. "Sorry about that," he said sheepishly as he set my down on my own foot.

There was one hallway going right. Another hallway crisscrossed this first one, with a bathroom at the end and the other going further to my right. To my left was a short hallway, and it stopped at a large window. A plant was sitting at the left of the window. Mr. Deveroux took me to the right door in the right hallway. Behind the door was a bedroom with a bed sticking out into the open space from the left wall. The windows were in the back of the room. A bureau was on the right wall, all the way back adjacent to the windows. Then there was a closet and another dresser on that wall.

"If you should need anything," Mr. Deveroux said, "call my sister."

"She is making breakfast," I said.

"Well," he decided, "don't be needing help!"

"All right, thank you."

He closed the door.

As I did my business, I thought about where I wanted to go. There were so many places in the world, and it was their money I would be traveling by. I thought well.

Finally done, I called Mr. Deveroux, who then helped me to breakfast. He did not lift me down the stairs this time.

"I want to go back to America," I proclaimed at breakfast.

"Well, I can take her when I bring the _Magic_ back to America," Mr. Deveroux offered.

"You will?" I asked. I did not know why I really wanted to go back home. As simple as this, it was: I did not want to be near James and his drunken friends. I would rather live the rest of my life alone.

"She is leaving in a week, the_ Magic_," Mr. Deveroux said.

"What will I do in a week?" I pondered.

"You are our guest now, so act like it," Mrs. Deveroux responded.

"But when I am on the ship," I said, "Shall I not need someone to help me move around?" I was looking at Eve.

"No." She shook her head. "I cannot make it. Marcie, Annie and Edward are coming home with Father, and I need to be around here."

All eyes turned to Mr. Deveroux.

"Well, I have got my own duties!"

"There is no need to shout, Erik," Mrs. Deveroux said gently.

"Sorry."

"And anyway, this is all nonsense." She got up to the telephone on the wall and dialed a number. "Hello? Doctor?" she started. "Could you get me a pair of crutches? …Susan Deveroux…. Seventeen Gloaming Boulevard…Oh, no sir, they are not for me…All right, hold a minute." She asked me to stand and then she measured my height. Then she returned to the telephone. "Five feet, one inch…. All right… Today? I shall be home…All right…thank you, sir. Good-day." She hung up.

The day passed all too quickly. They promised me that they would take me out to town tomorrow. Today, I got accustomed to their house. Upstairs was at first a tangled mess of doors and such, but I got used to it. Mr. Deveroux's and his brother's bedrooms were on the wall lining the side yard, and Eve Deveroux's room was facing the front yard. Next to the stairs was a trap door to the attic, and behind the stairs was Annie Deveroux's room. Marcie Deveroux's room was behind Annie's. There was a cellar, underneath the kitchen where extra food was kept, like a pantry. It was very cold down there, but the cats loved it.

The crutches were delivered after dinner. I spent the afternoon practicing a normal-looking walk on them. When I wanted to go up or down stairs, Mr. Deveroux helped me. All in all, they did not mind that I was a stranger from America with barely any money. They came to my every need.

After dessert of chocolate pudding, after I went up to bed, with Mr. Deveroux's help, he went back downstairs to talk to his mother. Somehow, I suspected it was about me.

"You enjoyed the day?" Mrs. Deveroux asked.

"Yes. She is a nice person. Do you not feel sorry for her?"

"Why?"

"Well, you see, she has no money. I just think that for someone like her, it is not… well… it isn't fair. I just feel sorry."

"I wish your father could say a few nice things like that."

"You don't think he would be upset over this?"

"He might."

"But he will never see her here," Mr. Deveroux went on eagerly. "We don't have to tell her what kind of money she has. She is American, and he knows nothing about American society so she can possibly be one to him."

"Erik, you do say the strangest things…"

"Father already has a few bad things to say about me. Let us not give him another. She's not worth his gossip."

I left to my room. I felt special, for everything that he had just said. I did not know what his father was like for me to be kept a secret, but that was not my concern. I was now cared for again since Father's death.

The next morning I gave myself a good bath in their upstairs bathroom and put on a nice dress. After breakfast, we went walking, Mr. Deveroux, his sister and I. They took me to friends' houses, stores, and things like that. We ate dinner at a restaurant. Many people seemed to care little as to how I looked with the crutches.

At supper, we relayed back to Mrs. Deveroux what we did that day. I did not bring up that I had overheard Mr. Deveroux's conversation with his mother the last night.

The next morning I made breakfast. And after six years of experience cooking meals for five men and myself, that breakfast was good, or so I was told. Eve said that it was superb, but she did not like the fact that I was alone in the kitchen without help for my foot. After she and her mother cleaned the table, Mrs. Deveroux rewrapped my foot. Then, when everyone else had something to do, I went outside to the garden and sat at the table. I just sat there, thinking about the future. My future. What was I to do in America again? Where was I to live? Who was I to talk to? Why was I going to America again? Why could I not go somewhere else in Europe? Could I go somewhere else in Europe? What if I stayed here with the Deveroux's and earned a house?

"Good morning," Mr. Deveroux said from behind me. As I turned, he sat next to me. "What are you doing?"

"I was thinking about why I want to go back to America."

"Why not?"

"Well, you see, I left home to find a better life in Europe."

"So stay here," Mr. Deveroux said as though the advice should have been easy to see.

"But James…"

"Oh, I see. You first wanted to get away from your home, now James."

I pursed my lips. "Yes, you can say that."

"And Michael Daae is also your brother?"

"Yes."

"Older or younger?"

"I am the youngest."

"As am I. I, uh, also know about your father. I am sorry. I am rather a nosy person."

I thought back to that conversation I had had with Michael, and Mr. Deveroux had heard everything. "Well, you are like me in that way, as well. I also get very hysterical."

"That is not like me. Well, only on occasion will I ever shout in shock, like when you tore Mother's rag. She has been trying to get some poor wounded chap to tear it apart while she puts that magical medicine since before I was born. Some of it used to be Eve's old aprons as a child."

"When I was thirteen, my best friend promised we would go to each other's weddings. I forgot about it until she reminded me when we were eighteen, when she so-called had fallen in love. I remember that day. Meg would not tell me whom it was that she liked. Then, two years ago, she married my brother, Michael, and she did it in secret. I threw a fit for my father. All she left me were those two cats I have."

"Meg is the girl you were arguing with on the rescue ship?" he asked.

"She is."

He thought, and took up some time in doing that. Well, he looked like he was thinking. "Do you like to travel?"

"I have only done it once. I have lived in one place, gone to one school, lived with the same people, doing the same things. We lived in New Jersey. My trip to New York to the _Magic_ was my first time out of the state. I have only crossed the sea once after now. Why do you ask?"

"Some people do not like to travel, like my mother. She only brings herself about England and nowhere else. I, on the other hand, cross the Atlantic quite a few times a year."

"I know that. You are an officer," I stated.

"Do you have a job? No, wait, never mind." He probably just remembered that I had no home to work in. "What are you going to do in America?"

"Go to where I came from."

"There is no one in your house now, by the way?"

"No, just the rest of my things and my mother's and father's. Thomas and James left every piece of furniture, just took their possessions."

"Who is Thomas?"

"My brother."

"Another? Are there any more that I should know about?" Mr. Deveroux was smirking slightly.

"No. Michael is the oldest, then James, then Thomas, then me."

"You do not at all resemble Michael."

"Actually, I look very much like my mother, but she had blond hair, where Michael and Thomas get it from. James takes from Father."

"What happened to your mother?"

This one question was always my least favorite. People always asked me this one, like it was a curse on me forever and ever. They would ask me at school, "Christine, what happened to your mother? Oh, I am awfully sorry." And so on. And I would have to stand there, holding my hands together nervously and tell them that I did not know. Not until I was older did my father tell me why everyone else had a mother and I did not. I had heard James' remarks about how I had killed Mother, but I never believed it until Father told me. Then, when The Question came up again, I would stand there, holding my hands together nervously and tell them that my mother was dead, and the reason why.

I sat still, looking at my hands and how they held each other in anxiety and said, "She died giving birth to me."

"Horrible."

There was another hesitation.

"Too many deaths in your family."

I stared at my lap. At least now I was receiving sympathy from someone.

"When did your brothers leave the house?" Mr. Deveroux wanted to know.

"After my father's death. In fact, the day right after he died."

"You speak of your father's death over and over again. Can I know what happened?"

"I wish not to talk of it now," I clarified. "Do you have to prepare for the upcoming voyage?"

"Yes, I have to pack. I always do that the day before. I also need to sign on. That I shall do on Saturday."

"How long have you sailed?"

"Three years."

"Why is my brother third and you are sixth? You do have a year of experience more than he does."

"That is what he signed on for."

"But you have more experience."

"And that is what I signed on for."

"Oh."

"And we work on different ships."

"That makes a difference."

I decided to change the subject. Mr. Deveroux did not look like he wanted to talk about his work anymore. I also wanted to know what he did with his money and he still lived with his parents, but that was none of my business. We began to talk about snow and why it did not freeze saltwater and why it had not come yet, in London or New Jersey since Christmas. Mr. Deveroux mentioned that we should have snow soon in England, but he did not know exactly when. I told him that I loved the snow and the peaceful feeling it gives.

"Speaking of snow," Mr. Deveroux started, "are you not cold?" He took his arm off of my shoulders.

When was his arm there, anyway?

"Let us go inside." He helped me out of my seat. As his hands, warmer than mine, touched mine, he said, "You are cold. Here," he gave me my crutches, "go in. I'll be there in a moment."

Inside the parlor from the patio, I shivered. Eve passed by and asked how cold it was outside. I said, "Cold enough to make me shiver." Then she asked me where Erik was.

"Outside still," I replied.

"Erik!" she screamed through the back door. "Get yourself in here before you turn to ice!"

He came in, insisting that he was not going to freeze. She pointed to me, and pointed out how I was badly shivering.

"Just sit down, the two of you, I'll get you some tea," she ordered as she marched to the kitchen.

Mr. Deveroux began to laugh. "That is the typical Eve I know," he said. "Always jumping to conclusions."

"Always?"

"Yes. Unlike me." He sat up with false arrogance, knowing that what he said was not true.

"Not true. You jumped to a conclusion when you saw me shot."

"But I was right." He grinned still.

"She is right, too. I am chilled to the bone."

"You are not, you just think you are. Do not let her tell you how you feel. Wait!" He laughed. "What am I saying? She is always right!"

"Of course she does. She knows how you work. She is older."

"You are right."

"So is she."

"Women," he muttered under his breath.

"Always right," I remarked proudly and gleefully.

"Not fair. And men have more rights."

"You have said it. I could not have said it any better than you did." I was beaming.

In walked Eve, with two mugs of tea. "The last thing you, Christine, need is a case of pneumonia to add to your physical condition. And if you two featherheads looked out, you would see that it is snowing."

Surely enough, as we turned our heads to the window, there were little flakes of white falling down.

"Are you happy?" Mr. Deveroux asked.

"Quite." I replied. I loved snow.

Mr. Deveroux sipped his tea, and noted that I hadn't touched my own cup. I picked it up and drank some. "Now I did," I pointed out devilishly and cleverly.

"If I put you and Eve in a contest to see who was smarter," Mr. Deveroux told me, "you would win."

"Not so!" Eve contradicted.

"So so!" Mr. Deveroux said defiantly.

"So so?" I repeated, fakely bewildered. "I do not think that there is such an expression in the English language."

"For Erik, there is everything. He never goes by the limits."

"I do," he opposed his sister, " or I would be outside now."

"No, your instincts would make you bring yourself in," I said, opposing them both.

"Erik lacks instincts." Eve was firm in her words, but her eyes were laughing.

"Stop hurting my feelings," Mr. Deveroux choked, pretending to cry.

"He also has no feelings."

"Not so."

"I am joking, Erik! Have you no sense of humor?"

"I do, can you not see me acting to cry? I told you, Christine, you are smarter than she."

"Do you often brawl?" I inquired, once again, a question having nothing to do with the subject, almost.

"Surely, Christine," Eve began, "have you yourself not argued and fought with your brothers?"

"Yes, but they did the talking while I would ignore. They often teased me, as I am the only girl in my family."

"I am assuming that your mother passed away?"

"When Christine was born, yes," Mr. Deveroux added to the now answered question. "It is too long of a story to explain."

"I wish not to speak of it," I sighed quietly.

Mrs. Deveroux appeared. "Gather your coats, we are going out for dinner. Eve and I do not feel like cooking."

"It is snowing," Mr. Deveroux and I said together.

"That does make a difference," Mrs. Deveroux seemed to slump as she thought.

"I refuse to cook. I will not," Eve announced.

"I will," I offered.

A chorus of three British "No!"s followed as quick as a snowflake could drop to the ground.

"I will not poison you."

"Your foot, Christine, your foot." Eve sounded like she was begging me. "Please, stay _off _of it! You worry me whenever you stand on it."

"I can cook," I persisted.

"I can help." Mr. Deveroux sounded like me.

The two women before me began laughing.

"I recall the last time that Erik cooked, Marcie got sick," Eve said.

"Not funny," Mr. Deveroux said sternly. "And anyway, she'll be doing the cooking, I'll be doing the moving and the lifting and the helping."

"Start, then, I am rather hungry," Mrs. Deveroux said. As I walked out with Mr. Deveroux behind me, I heard Mrs. Deveroux say, "Eve, you do tease your brother too much."

"Well, that meat or whatever it was tasted like coal."

"Evelyn!"

After dinner, I took it upon my own initiative to tidy up their bedchambers. This time, Eve did not protest. She went to the sitting room to knit. Her mother cleaned up the kitchen while Mr. Deveroux ran some errands in town.

I started with Eve's room, then Mrs. Deveroux's, the master bedroom. Theirs were easy, because they kept the rooms neat already. But Mr. Deveroux's room looked as though a storm had raged through it, perhaps a sea storm if he had to choose. I did not care, though, because I had seen worse, like Thomas' after a girl he had liked moved away years before.

As I finished up, Mr. Deveroux himself showed up from behind. Right behind me.

"Do you enjoy cleaning rooms?"

"Yes, when there is nothing else to do. I am very used to house cleaning."

"Too bad you could not stay here. You can stay and clean my room always, as no one else does and we do need a maid. But," he said, changing his tone, "I already have your ticket to America." He grinned.

I jumped up. "May I see?"

"No."

I scowled. "Why not? I have cleaned this whole upstairs and made your lunch-"

"There is something on it that Mother, Eve and I wish to keep secret."

I did not know of anything that could possibly be a secret on a ship's passenger ticket, but I relented. "Fine. Be like that. See if I care. You know, I can always undo my work here."

"Not that it would make me do anything to make me show you your ticket. I like my room as it was before, although a tidy up once in a while is nice."

"You are very odd."

"I can say that much about you."

There was a moment of silence.

Mrs. Deveroux, out of nowhere, said, "Did you get it?"

"Yes. Eve has it."

"Good. Both of them?"

"Who else is coming?" I asked.

"Nobody," they answered in unison. "Just me," Mr. Deveroux continued. "I signed on today."

"Then what do you mean, 'both'?"

"You'll see."

…………………………………………………

This was a tad bit longer, I know. But that's a good thing, right?

R+R please!


	6. The Chase

That day, Tuesday, I woke up to knocking on my door.

"Christine. Christine? Time to get up. We must get you to the docks soon; we have half an hour."

Quickly, I carefully jumped out of bed and dressed. Once I hobbled downstairs with my trunk, they, Eve and her mother, rushed me outside to the buggy with Eve. We would go to the train station together, she would give me my ticket there, and I would go to the docks alone and get on the _Magic_. Mr. Deveroux had left two hours earlier because he was a crewmember.

When the buggy ride was over and I got out, Eve thrust the ticket in my hand, slammed the door shut and it merged away.

The ticket said second class.

_What? Why did they do that, now?_ I had no money and they were giving me everything. I now owed them heavily.

My room was on D-deck, D-30. When I got to the end of the gangway, Mr. Deveroux was there to collect the ticket, of course in uniform. "Hello. A second class ticket at a first class entrance?"

"This is a second class entrance-"

"I know, I know. Hmm," he grinned, "All right there, with that scraggly thing?" I could only smile. It was not too heavy, but too wide. "D-30, is it? I'll see you later." Then he let me inside the ship.

I waved the best way that I could while holding the trunk. My room was a single one. The bed's head was against the left wall, the left side was on the back wall. A table and chair were on the left wall in front of the bed. On the right wall behind the door was a hanger rack, and next to it was a small sink. A porthole sat over the bed and two electricity or water pipes ran overhead along the ceiling. The bed's covers were green with white sheets and a pillow. The floor was bare and wooden. The bed itself was wooden and so were the desk, chair and hanger rack. I immediately settled in.

Dinner was chicken soup. The second-class dining room was not so filled when I went. I might have been a bit early.

Exactly five hours after the ship left port, I was in my stateroom when there was a knock on the door.

"Who is there?" I called from my sitting position on the bed. My given response was the sound of a man clearing his throat. The door opened and in stepped Mr. Deveroux. He closed the door and sat next to me. Right next to me.

"What do you think?" he asked, looking straight into my face.

"I think that you spoil me as your guest."

"You are not our guest anymore. You are the _Magic's_ guest."

"If that is how you want to put it, Mr. Deveroux."

"I think you can call me Erik now. I have asked you twice each day for the past week."

I felt flushed in the face. "I am sorry. It's just that-"

"It's alright. I understand." He was smiling. "When I hear 'Mr. Deveroux' I think of my father. Otherwise, I think that I am on duty upstairs. I respect your manners, though."

I laughed nervously. Not many people pointed things out about me.

"I always wondered, though, why you called my sister by her first name?"

The blush returned. "I… did not quite know if she is married or not, so I didn't know her last name." The truth came out. "Please do not laugh."

He still found it amusing, because he was smiling openly. "She is not married. Her last name is Deveroux. Do not be ashamed. Anyone would think that someone her age would be married." He took a breath. "So, where are your cats?" he asked.

I looked around the room. "Under the bed, asleep, is Bright. Magic is on the chair."

"You are lucky that you were able to sneak them into England and back out again."

"You are not supposed to know that."

"Too bad. I do. So, have you ever noticed that Magic is the name of this ship and your gray cat?"

I thought that one over. "Yes. I have. When I first saw the advertisement in the newspaper, Magic was sitting on the kitchen counter. It confused me."

The room was silent for a small while.

"So, what are your plans for this voyage?" he asked me.

"I have not made any. I do not have any acquaintances aboard besides you and you are always on duty."

He looked away from me for a moment. "Not always. Not now, I am not."

"How often are you off?"

"Every four hours, for four hours."

He said 'hours' like 'ohrs'. That was what his accent sounded like.

"What are you going to do in America? That you have not told me yet? There must be some other things other than keeping house…"

"That is just it," I confirmed. "I do not have work; I do not have any friends-"

"I feel left out."

"-except you…I don't have much of an interesting life."

"Why?"

"Because that's how I was…brought up, I suppose. I am very used to it."

"I'll visit you and keep you company," Mr. Deveroux promised.

I smiled shyly, thanking him.

"Will you ever come to England again?"

"I do not know."

"You should. One week is not enough." He stopped. "What sort of area do you live in?"

"A town. I live in a small area, fairly populated. I have neighbors as much as you do, probably, but our property is not even nearly as large as yours. Raoul lived across the street, in fact. We, my brothers, too, used to play right in the middle of the street until my father grew worried that we would be all run over by those cars that started to travel around."

"If my mother ever caught me playing in the street when I was of that age, she would have me whipped."

I laughed, only because of how he said it. But the thought of him being whipped did not seem right.

"My house used to have a playroom."

"You could afford that."

"Is that my fault?"

"No."

"Let's go for a walk."

"What?"

"Outside. Where there is more room than this stuffed up, cramped place. I would have gotten you a first class ticket, but I do not have the money."

"You had a playroom."

"That was my parents money, not mine. They are three hundred times richer than I am. I have not much compared to them."

"I have nothing; so do not ask me to buy any first class tickets!"

"I would never."

There was another silence.

"Let's go!" Erik urged. "It is getting boring in here."

"Oh, all right. And I didn't say that I would not go for a walk with you, I just did not answer."

We left my room and headed downstairs. "I really do not think that I am allowed to do this," Erik told me as we stepped down gray step after gray step.

"Do what?"

"Walk around this ship with you."

He started guiding me through a maze of hallways. They were third class rooms.

"Why are you not permitted?"

"I have work to do. Even if I am off duty, I still do not think that I am supposed to be here with you."

"So then why are you?"

His walking speed gained a little, and he did not answer until a few seconds passed, as though he either was hesitating to respond or he did not hear me. "Because I…want to."

I caught up with him. "Keep in mind that I cannot go as quick as you can."

He turned to me and grinned sheepishly. "Why is that?"

"My foot."

"Oh, yes."

We strolled around a bit, Erik still showing me which ways to turn, as though there was actually supposed to be a destination for us at the end of wherever we were supposed to be going.

Wondering if there was a certain place we were going, and if Erik did really know where he was taking me, I complained, "We are lost."

He laughed almost as though I was insane. "What are you talking about?"

"You have been pulling me around this who knows what place towards no obvious reason. Do you even know where we are going?"

"Yes."

Now I laughed. "How in the world could you possibly…"

"I have been on this ship for three years."

"But I thought that you work upstairs."

He laughed softly. "Christine…"

"Yes?"

He seemed to be in a trance momentarily. When I said 'yes?' I had snapped him out of it. "I know this ship backwards and forwards and upwards and downwards. If I were you, I would not be concerned that I had gotten you lost. I would not do that."

There was a rush of noise from around a corner ahead of us.

"We are near the dining room," I announced, hoping to be of some use.

"I know."

"What time is it?"

"Almost six o'clock. I have two more hours. Why, are you wanting to go back up?"

"Well…"

"Then we shall go." Erik abruptly turned us around and started us back.

"Do you know the way?"

"I told you that I would not get you lost. Yes, I do know the way to your room from here."

He took me back to my room next. It did not take us an hour because we were not strolling and we were not taking our time. He seemed to be rushing us along, even though he had time to return me to my room. I did not say anything about it and let him do the leading.

When we arrived, he did not leave me yet. He came in and we sat on the bed. "Now, was that better than having to sit here and do nothing?"

"I suppose."

"And I learned that you are not as quiet as I thought you were."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I have never heard you whine before."

"I did not whine!" I nearly shouted in protest.

Erik chuckled to himself. "Excuse me for thinking so, then."

I fingered the bed coverings. "Was I supposed to learn from this extravagant walk?"

"I hope so."

I knew that he was joking. I did not believe that a simple walk taken in the basements of a ship could be educational in any way. "I learned that you know every part of this ship and I should not argue with you."

"Wonderful. Let's take a walk tomorrow."

"May it be elsewhere than downstairs?"

Bowing his head in a promise, he murmured solemnly, "Of course, if you want."

"I would like to see the first class rooms."

"They are not really special, anyway, but I'll see if I can get you there."

"I thought that you knew everywhere in the ship."

"I do." He continued to stare at the floor.

"Then why did you say that you will see? Aren't you able to maneuver yourself around this ship without getting yourself lost?"

"I meant that I did not know if I could sneak myself out of the officers' quarters to see you."

"Where are the officers' quarters?"

"Behind the bridge. Could we take a walk everyday?"

"Why not? It would give me something other to do than sit here and be bored." I got up and pulled the chair with Magic on it out from under the desk. He woke up and gave me a dreamy look. As I pet Magic on his soft head, Erik said, "You could do other things that do not include me."

"Such as…"

"Well, there is a whole lot of other people on this ship and I am sure that one of them is worth your acquaintanceship." It was not sarcastic.

"Is that a compliment?"

"Excuse me?"

"A compliment? You just gave me one."

"Did I?"

I continued to pet Magic and ignored his whatever-it-was-that-was-bothering-him disorder. Apparently, he did not realize that he said that I was well above everyone else and they had to earn my friendship. I did not think that I had misunderstood. He said that one of the other passengers could be worth my acquaintanceship.

He thought highly of me.

"I think I should be going now." Erik rose from the bed. I stopped stroking Magic when he began to. "Will you be alright by yourself?"

"Yes."

"If you need me, I am only a few flights of stairs up."

I giggled. "A few? Might I remind you that I have a bad foot?"

"I'll come check on you whenever I can. I promise." I stood again, after him. "I shall come here again after you eat your dinner. And do you know where the hospital is?"

"No."

"Never mind. I shouldn't think that you would break a bone or something worse.

"Not while you are worrying yourself."

"If you need anything…"

"I'll be fine!"

"Yes."

"Go!"

"You do not want me here?"

"I did not mean that."

"I know you did not. Just take care of yourself."

"Yes." For just four hours, he was being overprotective.

"I-"

He did not say what he wanted to. He stopped himself short and just turned to leave. "Good-bye."

"Good-bye," I repeated.

After he was out, he came back in. I knew that he really wanted to tell me something, but he just did not seem to be able to. "Christine?"

"Yes? I thought that you were leaving."

"Well…Christine, has it occurred to you that I-"

He did it again; he did not finish his sentence.

"That you what?"

"Never mind."

He left.

I turned back to Magic, and continued to pet him. "Magic, you know, he is acting quite strange."

Magic lay his head down and closed his eyes. He would not sleep, though, unless I stopped touching him and made no more noise after that.

"He is acting as though…" I thought for a moment before telling Magic what I was thinking. I needed to find words to describe it. It was odd, was it not? Erik's behavior? He was not like this when we were at his house.

Magic put his paw over my hand, as though to protest against my petting him. If I moved my hand, Magic would scratch.

I laughed, then muttered finally, "He is acting as though he has feelings for me."

To my astonishment, at that moment, Erik's head poked through the door and he I, in a frantic rush, jerked myself up and halted in midair because Magic had begun to sink his claws in. Almost automatically I pushed his paw off and without a scratch, I leapt to the door. When I looked out, he was gone. _No use trying to run after him._

As I trampled back to the bed, the word 'maybe' was replayed and repeated. _Maybe? Maybe he likes me? Does that explain his almost flirtatious disposition?_

I was now not only confused, but awed.

He was _in love_ with me?

The confusion I was going through made me nearly weak. The whole idea of someone I knew for only a week, and I still could barely call him by his first name, liking me for more than a friend… It had me severely weakened. Erik would have another break in two hours, so that was the amount of time I had to waste before confronting Erik and asking what 'maybe' was supposed to mean and even what he was eavesdropping on me for.

When my time of anxiety was up, I headed upstairs to find the officers' quarters. The place was quiet and emptied when I found it, behind the bridge as Erik had said. I sneaked in and waited. Sure enough and luckily for me, Erik was the first to come in.

"Hello. What are you doing here?" he asked when the door was closed, as though he hadn't scared me half to death before. "I thought I was going to come to you."

"I have to ask you a question."

"Talk."

This was another time of great anxiety, greater than before. I gathered my nerves, inhaled deeply and asked, "What exactly is 'maybe' supposed to mean?"

There, said and done. Now came the answer, the more frightening part.

Erik did not respond. At least not with words. He walked over to me. Then he put his hand to his chin, and closed in on me. His head bent downward, closer towards mine, his breath heating my face… and it stopped.

The next thing that I knew, he was kissing me right on the lips.

My whole body stood still. I had never been kissed by anyone before but my father, whom I knew very well in comparison to Erik. And my father had never kissed me in _this_ manner. Here I was, being kissed by someone I knew for a week.

His arms were around my back and neck, pulling me closer to him. Through shock I did not know if my eyes were opened or closed. Despite all the messages my mind sent to my arms, they made no effort to push him off of me. I did not even know if I was even trying. So, whether I liked it or not, I had to give into him. I felt like I was drowning into him altogether.

Finally he stopped, put his hands in his coat pockets and said, "Did that explain your question?"

"Y-yes," I mumbled.

"Did I frighten you?" he asked, stroking my cheek with the back of his middle and forefingers.

"A… a bit."

"Oh." Erik sat on a bunk, most likely his, and ran his hand through his hair tiredly and sighed. He looked disappointed.

"You can leave now," he said.

I took my crutches and left.

That night I could not sleep. Poor Bright could not sleep, either, on the bed- I was tossing and turning too much. He went underneath the bed, but I still made too much kicking noises for him to tolerate. In the end, he went between my dresses in the hanger rack. Magic stayed on his chair.

Feeling like I was suffocating, in the middle of the night, I opened the window.

Through the whole night, flashbacks of Erik kissing me tore through my head, asleep or awake. I sometimes felt as though he was in the room with me.

Morning came, finally. I dressed and began talking to Magic and Bright. Then I noticed that the porthole was closed.

But I never closed it!

Perhaps I did while I was half asleep

A knock came at the door. It had to be Erik. I chose not to answer. The knocker continued.

"Miss? I have your breakfast," an unfamiliar voice, belonging to an American man, said. "Someone sent you your breakfast."

"Who are you?" I demanded.

"Steward Dewing."

Frantically, I put Magic and Bright in the trunk and casually opened the door. A man, Steward Dewing, was holding a tray with two plates of food and orange juice. There was a note card.

"Do I have to…never mind," I said. I took the tray and set it on the table. Then I took five cents from my purse, gave it to the man, thanked him and closed the door. The first thing I did after that was read the note:

_I am truly sorry for what happened last night. It is now history. But, I am also sorry to tell you that history does repeat itself and this one may if I lose control of my behavior again. I think I love you, Christine. You are as beautiful as the sea, even more…_

He had given me smaller compliments before, but this one was much, much more. I could have fallen onto the bed in embarrassment. How could he think of me like this? How could anyone? But he did, nonetheless.

I knew that if he were to enter the room at that moment, I would be afraid enough to crawl under the bed.

After I ate the thoughtful gift from Erik, the breakfast, I began pacing the room. As I went back and forth, Bright's head followed me as he sat on the bed. Magic sat next to him, asleep. I spoke to myself.

"He likes you. You are not sure if you like him or not." I stopped. "_Do_ you like him? Maybe the only reason you did not move last night was because you were enjoying yourself. No, that was shock." I paused. "Now what are you supposed to do? You are so frightened that you will not leave the room and you are so bored that you are talking to yourself aloud!" Then I started to laugh. I must have sounded like an idiot! I sat on the bed next to Bright. He gazed at me and squeezed his eyes to show his pleasure being with me. All right, so Magic and Bright loved me, too, but that counted as love between sons and mother, not man and woman love that Erik seemed to want. I was not sure that I was ready for that. But I should! I had grown surrounded by men, all of them older than myself, and I should not be afraid of Erik!

But I still felt that I was, and not because he and I hardly knew each other.

Confused as to how I felt, I took a nap next to the balls of fluff on the bed. I did not know what time it was when I got up. I wanted to know, and I wanted to eat dinner. I fixed myself and just as I opened the door, Steward Dewing was about to knock. Once again, he was holding a meal tray. He also wanted to tell me that it was one o'clock and I had missed dinner. I received my dinner from him and closed the door. I read the note:

_Are you ever going to come out of hibernating? Or are you still afraid of me? I want to see you. I am coming, whether you like it or not._

Oh, no, he was not coming! Not while I was here, at least. I ate and hid the cats, the poor animals, and left. Down the right of the corridor was Erik. In an instant, I closed the door behind me and ran as fast as I could in the other direction to another stairwell. I wanted him to not find me, but that was going to be a bit difficult, considering that he had longer, stronger legs and I had an injured foot.

"Where are you going?" he shouted from one flight below me. I laughed and shook my head. I intended to go all the way up, but at B-Deck I got off. I was not going to strain myself to get away from him

Erik was a clear fifteen or twenty feet behind me. And he was not running; he was speed walking. I knew why. I did not think that an officer on this ship was allowed to be chasing a lady passenger, on or off duty. So he was not making it obvious that he was following me.

I realized that I was in first class area. People in furs and elaborate suits were walking around, gaping at me. I did not stop. One asked me as I rushed by, "Lady, are you lost?" I ignored him. Soon I found the dining room. Stewards, passengers, everyone stopped to look at me. Unreasonably, I shouted, "I am not here to eat, just let me be!" Through all the noise and the chaos, I depicted Erik's laughter from the crowd.

When I finally got out, I realize first that Erik was still inside. People were asking him questions and they were closing around him. Good for me. Second, I was lost. Well, I did feel like it. I knew that I was on B-Deck, the fore well deck. Oh, my, was it cold! I had no wrap with me.

"Amazing how you are ahead of me and I am taller and you have got a weakened foot."

I spun around. Erik was ten feet away.

"Why are you running away from me?" He was laughing.

I shrugged my shoulders, smiled, and dashed for shelter under the forecastle deck. He followed, and I made my way to a staircase and went down to D-Deck. There, on that deck, was the second-class dining room before my room. But I did not know how to get to it from where I was. I had to saunter around blindly. I needed a staircase, badly. Erik was getting closer.

Finally, I found a stairwell that took me only up. "I want to go down!" I muttered loudly. "I know the below decks better!"

"So do I!" I heard Erik call out.

I ran all the way to the Boat Deck. The whole way up, I heard Erik laughing and telling me that I could not do it. That made me to go faster. Up on the boat deck, he could definitely not run. Crew and passengers would see him. And, I knew exactly how to get to my room from the boat deck.

At the top, I chose to wait for him. He was still at A-Deck when I reached the top. I walked over twenty feet away from the stairwell. When he came up, the first person he would see would be me.

"Oh, I see. Trying to get me into trouble, are you not? Bringing me up here to let Captain Dorington see me running after you, am I right?"

I nodded, flashed him a grin that said, "I am smart," and ran off to find a stairwell that went all the way to D-Deck. I made sure that he followed. Somewhere around C-Deck, he disappeared. I waited a minute or so. Deciding that he was too behind, I continued to D-Deck. When I reached it, I looked back up. I could not see Erik. I waited a little more, then slowly walked down the corridor to my room. I turned the knob of my door and turned myself around at the same time to check and see if Erik was behind me. The place was empty of him. I entered the room backwards and when I was in, I locked the door.

Erik was right behind me in the room.

My mouth dropped right open. I made a lunge for the door, one hand of mine on the lock, the other on the knob. Within seconds, Erik darted around me and put his hands over mine and begged, "Please do not go, Christine." And as I tried to pry the door open, he firmly tightened his grip on my hands. I looked at him with anguish. He just smiled. Then he pulled my fingers off of the door and led me away from the door, too. We stood in the middle of the room, my hands forcefully in his, and his glare on me endless. It was not a glare of anger. He had affection for me, as easy as that. His glare said so.

"Why do you want to run away from me?" he asked.

"I do not know."

His hands had seemed to be pinching mine, but not anymore. They relaxed, but stayed over mine. I was a prisoner.

"I will not eat you. I promise."

I could not help but laugh.

"Have I said that I would?"

"No."

"Then why do you seem to be so scared?"

"Because…."

"I won't throw you overboard, either."

"I did not say that you would…"

"I am not evil."

"I didn't say that, either…"

"Then will you look me straight in the eye and stop acting like I said that I was going to eat you?"

I looked into his eyes. Even with the emphasis he had used with what he just said, his eyes were not cold.

"Are you mad at me for what I did last night?"

"No."

"Was that one your first?"

"What one?"

"My kiss to you."

"Yes, it was."

"So I frightened you."

"Yes."

"Is that why you are so afraid? I am sorry."

"You said so in your note."

There was a quick silence. "Christine… do you like me?"

"Yes."

"…as a friend?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

He was having trouble getting his words out. "Or more than that?"

"I do not know."

My hands grew wet in his. He still did not release me, or my hands.

"Would it be so bad for you to like me more than a friend?" he asked.

"I do not know."

"Do you know anything?" He was smiling.

"Not in this situation."

"I know something."

"What is that?"

"I want to kiss you again."

I had no response to that.

"May I?"

I did not know whether to let him or not.

"Please?"

I thought back to the previous night.

Was it really that bad?

Or was I just shocked?

Too shocked.

He would not eat me.

He would kiss me.

He did. Without waiting for an answer, he went right ahead and kissed me. My hands stayed in his, and I realized how much he was enjoying himself.

"Do you love me, Christine?"

I had to laugh. He was so persistent! And eager.

"Why was that so funny?"

"I know that you do not want to hear me say this, but I do not know."

"I think that you should know."

"Well, I do not."

"I know I do."

"I know that you do."

"I have for quite a while now."

"Really?"

"Since your brother shot you."

"You mean since you first met me."

"No, I met you on this ship before, remember?"

"Yes."

"And I liked you even then, but I did not know you."

"You did not!"

"I did."

"I do not believe you."

"So don't. I was just telling you."

"You are mad."

"No, I am not."

"Yes, you are."

"I'll decide that."

"Usually those that are mad do not realize it."

"And if I am not mad, then I'll know." He let my hands go. "I think I might have to leave to work now."

"What time is it?"

He reached into his pocket for his watch. "It is almost two o'clock. I have two hours until I start another watch. I should be leaving now."

"Do you have to?"

He smiled proudly. "Are you missing me already? I think that you do love me."

I blushed and turned around, walking to the end of the bed. Erik came after me and turned me around. I had to face him again. He was still smiling, and with speed he stood me straight up from my almost crouching position.

"Do you remember my note when I said that you are beautiful?"

"Yes."

"Well, you are."

He was making me blush again.

"Especially when you blush."

"Stop it."

"I was expressing my opinion. You cannot stop me."

"You have to leave now, don't you?"

"Now you want me to go?"

"If I do not have to hear you complimenting me, yes."

"That was not nice."

"Sorry. I still love you, though."

"Aha! You admit it!"

I crimsoned. One should always watch what comes out of one's mouth. One should think before saying.

"I should leave now."

"Good-bye."

For some reason, he was not anything to fear anymore. I grew used to it by the end of the week. The 'it' was the fact that there was a person in my life that did not neglect me as my brothers did. Erik acted as though he had known me for all my life. We were old friends, neighbors, perhaps, and we stuck together whenever possible.

Eventually, the voyage ended. Departure day was the same as it was in England. Erik was on watch when I departed from the ship. He was regarding me with pride all the way from the top deck.

We hadn't said good-bye the day before. In fact, we hadn't said anything about meeting each other or if he was going to stay in America. He did not even know where I lived, or how to get to my house. I had to go by train, but Erik did not know that. Suddenly the fact that we had done no planning for after the voyage made me feel guilty and odd. I stared back at Erik. He was not there in his spot. He had other things to do, I decided. The question tugged at my mind. _Would I see him again?_ Was he planning to visit me? He had promised, I remembered. But he did not know where to go! And nobody around here would know me and where I lived.

The questions stopped being asked in my head and I made my way to the train station. As I had bought my ticket to England, without thinking, I bought my train ticket to home. Yes, home. I wanted to go home. Away from James. Back in my own little house all alone and cutoff from the world. Erik could visit occasionally. I could recover completely from my gun wound. I would return to my normal routine that I had done for the past two years. No more ocean crossing anymore. I missed home.

The train station was having an ordinary day. I entered, just another person about to travel. I was a traveler who missed her bed and the smell of her house. Bright and Magic, too, were travelers. As far as Erik went…..

When I entered the station, I remembered what I had thought of when I had first came here in the beginning of the month, before going to England. That 'hole' that I had wanted to 'fill.' Now I realized, what exactly was supposed to be there? What was supposed to go in my 'hole?'


	7. This is Home, So to Speak

Hey all. Alright, I knwo that Erik is out of character, but it has to be this way for the storyline. His optimism and humor plays a key role in my story.

"Your train leaves in three hours, miss," the ticket man said.

"Thank you, sir." I took my ticket, bought the newspaper and found a place to sit undisturbed. I would, as the ticket man said, be waiting for three hours. My town was a quiet one and trains did not stop there often.

I did not remain undisturbed for long. While I was reading, rather peacefully and unbrokenly, the newspaper was magically snatched away from me.

"Excuse me, that is mine," I protested to the dark shadow in front of me.

The newspaper did not disappear magically or mysteriously. Erik was the culprit. He had followed me here.

"It is mine now, but yours only if I may sit next to you."

"Erik!"

"No."

"What?"

"Well, when a person is called by their name, he responds with a 'yes'. I am being different and I am saying no."

If I was not laughing hysterically at that, then who knows what I was doing.

"Well, may I sit?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I have decided to be different, too," I announced through giggles.

"I refuse to stand here for the next three hours while we wait for your train, so you had better let me sit here or I will sit here without your permission."

"Help yourself. I do not own that seat."

"I was trying to be courteous."

"Thank you, but I was trying to be different."

"And if I were not trying to be different, then neither would you!"

"Will you just sit down!"

"My pleasure." He sat and opened the newspaper to read.

"That is mine, by the way," I reminded him. "You promised it would be given back to me if I let you sit down next to me, and I did. May I have it back?"

"No."

"Do not tell me you are trying to be different again."

"Well, now you are just being insolent for arguing with me, so now I think that I shall keep this." The grin on his face, the childish laughter in his eyes, the sarcastic yet cheerful tone in his voice made me happy he was here.

"I was not! I was trying to make a point that it was ridiculous to ask to sit next to me and I do not own that seat!"

"And you copied my individuality."

"Is that a crime?"

"No. I was just joking with you."

"All right."

"But you still may not have my newspaper."

"It is mine!"

"Not any longer."

"Erik!"

"Yes?"

"I am a poor person and I can barely afford a newspaper and you come along and steal mine. That is not very courteous, if you ask me."

"I was not trying to be courteous."

"But you were when you asked to sit next to me."

"That was then."

"You are mad."

"In the past month almost, you have told me that over and over again. I think I definitely shall keep my newspaper right here."

"Fine. It _is_ only a newspaper. Why I was fighting over it with you is strange. Rather childish, if you asked me. I'll just sit here and bore myself to death and stare into the boring crowd while you read your precious newspaper."

"Crowds are not as boring as you think them to be."

"What makes you say that?"

"I was searching the crowd when I first saw you."

"And?"

"Here I am sitting next to you."

"And?"

"You are one of my closest friends now."

"You do not have any other friends?"

"Now why do you say that?"

"I do not think that I am much worth of your time. I am poor and you are rich and we have only met three weeks ago and…"

"You are the mad one here, Christine,"

"What?"

"You think that I judge people by how much money that they have?"

"Well…"

"Others do, I do not. Remember, I am different."

"I apologize."

"Good."

He sat up and let out a breath of air.

"Here is your newspaper." He handed it back to me.

"You can have it if you want it," I offered.

"I only took it to make you angry and blush."

"I was not blushing!"

"Yes, you were."

"You are most evil!"

"No, I am not. I am giving you your newspaper back, and I am going to take a walk while you read your paper."

At first I stopped to listen to what he was saying. "Oh, all right."

"Yes." He left me to my peace again, leaving his trunk with me to look after.

I went back to what I had been reading before my disturbance had arrived. Erik came back and began to read over my shoulder with me.

"Christine, you have a taste for everything?"

"I always read everything when I have the time."

"I am here, too. I did not come to be overridden by a newspaper."

"So, you are saying that I should stop reading and…"

"Pay more attention to me."

"All right." I lay the newspaper back onto my lap.

"Good."

"What would you like to do?"

He gave me a kiss.

"Was that it?"

"I just wanted to talk. Newspapers are incredibly boring."

"Almost as boring as staring into the crowd."

"Oh, Christine."

"Yes?"

"Nothing. You are just about as strange as I."

"If you say so."

"Glad to know that what I say counts."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He took my hand and sat back again. "At home, they only tease me."

"Erik, you are the youngest in your family. You should learn to expect that from older sisters and brothers. I have."

"Christine, are you a walking book of morals?"

"Me? No! Why would you think so?"

"You are always telling me facts of life."

"Does that make me whatever you said that you think I am?"

"A walking book of morals? Yes, to me, I think so."

"Odd."

"You, too, Christine."

"I think I shall read my newspaper now."

"You shall not!"

"I will."

"Why? It is an insult to me that you choose to entertain yourself with a newspaper and not me."

"Oh, all right! Just stop telling me what to do else wise!"

"When does the train leave again?"

"Three o'clock."

"Well then, we have some time until we leave here. Let us go for a walk."

"Who is 'we' you keep speaking of? You and I?"  
"Yes."

"Where are you going?"

"Where you are going."

"My house?"

"Yes. I want to see where you live. I know, it's very rude of me to invite myself, but I know you do not mind." Erik stood. "I am going now. Do you care to come?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I do not feel like it at the moment. I am tired."

"No, you are not," he contradicted.

"Yes, I am."

"So what do you plan to do about it?"

"Sleep."

"Here, in the middle of a train station?"

"Yes."

"Have fun. I am going now."

I fell asleep after staring into the crowd for a while. When I woke, Erik was sitting next to me again, peering into my face. "You slept well for an hour, " he told me.

"And you simply sat and watched?"

"Most of the time, yes." He smiled.

I rose and stretched. "What time is it?"

"Almost three o'clock."

"I had better move. My train leaves soon."

"Your train?"

"Yes," I stated. "My train."

"You own it? I was under the impression that you were a very poor person."

"Erik!"

"You said your train was to leave. Do not yell at me," he pointed out. "You were being politically incorrect."

"I am leaving to the train that is going to take me to my home."

"Excellent, Christine."

"Good-bye, Erik."

"Good-bye, Christine."

I left to my train that I did not own but was going to use to get home. The trouble did not start until I found where my ticket said that my seat was. I could almost swear, even though that is wrong, that I had purchased a third class ticket and in my hand was a first class ticket in a private seat. I reached the private seat and sat, after checking three times again that I was in the correct seat. I still felt that something was not right.

Just as I closed the door and sat, Erik casually opened the door and sat next to me.

"You've done something, haven't you?" I asked right away without greeting him.

He nodded with confirmation. That rascal.

I stared vaguely at him only to find myself kissing him. It started as a simple kiss, but he decided to make it fancier by pulling me in rather closely to him and putting his arms around me. He did not let go of me for a while. I knew he was enjoying himself, able to be in control. He liked dominance, and never got any of it at work or at home, so he was now taking it all out on me.

Not as though I was not enjoying myself as well.

When the train started, neither of us moved. I did not want it to come to an end, and neither did Erik.

But it did. It had to. Because a few seconds after the train started to move, the door flew open, as did my eyes, and behind it was a girl in a white traveling dress and long blond hair. I was the one to notice, and I reluctantly pulled away from Erik as best as I could. From the look on his face, I knew that he did not know that the door had opened. I also knew that he knew that I saw something behind him and he should turn to look. He did, and gave the little girl a weak smile as his handsome face turned from its peach color to a bright pink. He squeezed my hand, telling me that he was all right.

"My name is Elizabeth, but you can call me Liz. Momma says I need ta make some friends on this train and everyone is too old. So I guess it's you two that'll have to do." The little girl who called herself Liz closed the door and climbed on the opposite bench to sit with her feet dangling.

Still too shocked to move, Erik sat as still as a teacup. I looked at him and surprisingly, he looked back, about to either start laughing or faint. So, the speaking was left to me.

"Hello, Liz. I am Christine and _this,"_ I pinched his hand, "is Erik." He winced and raised his other hand and waved with yet another weak smile.

"Are you two gonna get married?" Liz asked. The question was so startling, coming from such a young child, that Erik was pinned in his position again, unable to speak.

"Well," I gathered, "no…"

"What do you mean 'no?' How do you know?" Erik blurted out of nowhere. Now I was blown. The look in his eyes told me, clear as crystal, that he had no intention of leaving me.

He wanted to kiss me.

_Oh, well_, I thought, _I do not blame him_. We were interrupted rather rudely and abruptly.

"How old are you?" Liz asked.

Erik's eyes widened.

Now I wanted to kiss him, to let him know that it was all right, that Liz was just a little girl, but I could not. Not in front of Liz, anyway. As a makeshift, I squeezed Erik's hand to reassure him.

"We are in our twenties," I replied. I looked at Erik again to see if he approved of my saying that. He did not, because the next thing he did was to get up, open the door and say firmly, "Out," as he pointed that way.

"Erik!" I exclaimed. "Don't be rude."

He walked over to me and hastily whispered in my ear, "If anyone were being rude here, it is she! Do not make such implications!"

In all my three weeks of knowing him, I had never heard his whisper, and now the only thing that I could think of was that I loved how it sounded. Strange, really. Almost not comprehendible. He went too fast and his accent only made it harder and prettier. I wanted to ask him to do it again, and then kiss him.

But Liz….

"No, I am not going!" she objected stoutly.

"Where is your mother?" Erik demanded.

"On the train, obviously." She paused. "D'you know how ships move? There are millions of people involved…"

"I KNOW WHAT MAKES A SHIP MOVE!" Erik almost bellowed.

I did not like Erik's yell.

"How d'you know? Only ship people know."

"I am a deck officer. Now go."

"But Momma wants me to make new friends," Liz persisted.

"We are too old. Now go!" he was still pointing at the opened door.

"Can you come with me? Momma would want to see my new friends. 'Specially a couple. She likes couples."

"We are busy. Some other time."

"So you are getting married!"

"No…" he started, "…we are…" his tone was getting louder and angrier, "NOT! Now _leave_!"

Liz did not look the slightest bit frightened.

I suddenly remembered being frightened when Erik yelled at me as I crossed the bridge in an attempt to get away from the man I had thought was Raoul.

Erik sat next to me again, exasperated, and muttered, "I do not believe this! I am twenty-three and I am just about to die of heart failure!"

I was forced to stifle my giggles at that comment.

A look of eagerness to give more information came over the girl with a grin. "My neighbor's a woman now. She--"

"I do not wish to hear it!" Erik cried as he threw his hands to his ears. Then he got up, scooped Liz into his arms and put her outside before slamming the door shut. He sat down again, for the third time, to kiss me. I was relieved that Liz was gone. I had never seen such a child filled with such questions and curiosity and information that were so unneeded. Now that I have, I knew I did not want to be interrupted by her again.

Erik's kiss had become so long and engrossing that I knew it just might not end until the train stopped. His anger at the girl was now being taken out on me, and he kissed with all he had.

Once more, I heard the door crash open and before I could open my eyes, Erik had already pulled away from me and jumped up. Liz was there again, to my annoyance, with a young brown haired woman in a red dress, presumably Liz's mother.

We, Erik and I, were stone still once more and the lady introduced herself as Margaret, the mother of Liz. "So, you two are Elizabeth's new friends?"

"Yup," Liz answered for us.

"I would like to speak with you for a minute," Erik said to Liz's mother. They stepped out and Liz sat next to me.

"You go to school?"

"No, I have finished with that a long time ago." I sighed. "Liz, does your mother ever reprimand you?"

"Only when I say 'yup' and I talk too loud for her."

So, her mother did know that her daughter was an impolite rodent.

"I'll trade with you," Liz spoke suddenly. "You can be Momma's daughter and go to school as me and I'll be Erik's wife!"

"But we are not getting married. We have only known each other for three weeks."

Liz gasped with wide eyes. She reminded me somewhat of little Agatha, just a bit more nosy and loud.

"Then why were you kissing him?" she pondered in curiosity.

"Because we love each other," I told her. That sounded strange coming from my own mouth.

"Momma would say that it's improper."

"Well, you are allowed to kiss while you are not married. In fact, that is how it starts out…"

I realized that I was almost implying that at one point I _would_ marry Erik.

"Let's not talk about Erik," I proposed.

"What do you think he's talking about with Momma?"

"Oh, I do not know," I lied. He was, without doubt, complaining that Margaret's daughter had rudely interrupted us and should be taught some good manners or she would never graduate from finishing school.

"I think he is just telling Momma that I opened your door without knocking and you were interrupted."

I had not thought that she had actually known that she should not have interrupted us and she had angered us.

"I am sorry that I interrupted you, Christine," Liz said solemnly, bowing her head. "I hope you'll forgive me."

_She is just a girl, _I told myself. "It is all right."

"I'll go now," she poutedly and ashamedly lowered herself off of the bench. Erik opened the door at the same time that Liz approached it.

"What is the matter with her?" he asked after she left and the door was closed again.

Privacy. We had that now.

"She said she is sorry she interrupted us. Now she looks like the world just ended because of her."

Erik seated himself for the fourth time. "It is all right, I hope you told her that."

"I did."

He put his arm around me. "Christine, were you and Liz talking about marrying me?"

"At one point."

"What did she say?"

"She said that we should switch lives so she would not have to go to school and she could marry you rather than I."

He laughed, and told me that he had been letting Margaret know that her daughter was being a nuisance, gently, and asked her to keep Liz from coming to disturb us again. He left out that we were kissing when Liz had thrown open the door.

"This is a long train ride," Erik said after we finished speaking of Liz.

"It should be two hours."

"No!"

"Yes."

"Really? You do not live _that_ far from New York City, do you?"

"Would I lie?"

"Not really."

I moved closer to Erik. I felt like doing so. He was not bothered, obviously, and only wrapped his arm tighter and kissed my temple. "Are you tired?"

"A little."

"You may sleep if you want."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. On my shoulder. I do not care." He took my hand with his free hand.

"All right."

"Tell me when you are asleep."

"Very funny."

When the train slowed to a stop, I woke up. Erik warned me that it was not our stop. But that door crashed open again, and Liz shouted, "We are stopping! We are stopping! Aren't you happy?"

Margaret instantly appeared behind her and pulled her away. "Yes, sweetheart, I am sure that Christine and Erik are aware of the train stopping. Let us go back to Grandfather, all right? I'm so sorry," she looked at us sheepishly and took Liz away.

"We have been lied to," Erik joked after I lifted my head.

"How?"

"Well, she said that she would keep Liz from coming here."

"Oh." I put my head back on his shoulder.

"Did I wake you?"

"No, of course not. The train did."

"Very well. It is four-thirty. What do you care to do?"

"I have no idea."

"You can snuggle up against me again and sleep." I could not see his face, but I knew he was smiling.

"You liked that, didn't you?"

"Very much," he prided. After I listened to his respiration for a minute, he asked, "Christine, are you hungry?"

"Come to think of it, yes."

"Will you come to the dining car with me?"

"Of course."

He took my hand and we got something to eat as a small dinner-supper. When we came back to our private room, it was almost time for us to prepare to leave. We did not bother to sit; we simply prepared our things to leave. Once we were off of the train, I expected that I would feel like kissing the ground. _This is home, Christine_, I told myself. _You did not come here for nothing_.

I started to lead Erik to my house, but halfway there he said we should get a taxi. I said that I had never ridden in a car before, nor did I want to.

"But," he said, "it looks necessary."

"Have you ever ridden in a car before?" I asked.

"Well, no…" he admitted.

"Then how do you know what it is like?"

"Well…"

"That's enough." We walked straight on.

"I was just thinking that we could share a first time experience together."

I did not tell him when we were nearing my house. When we did, Raoul's mother shouted from her garden across the street, "Well, hello, Christine! Where have you been?"

I stopped and shouted back, "London!"

"My! See anything interesting?"

"No, not much." Erik frowned, his English pride going up.

"Raoul would be so happy that you are home!" she said as she stood from her sitting position.

"Is that your home?" Erik asked me as he pointed to my brown house.

"Yes," I said.

"Are you going to introduce me to your handsome friend?" Raoul's mother hollered.

"Yes!" I screamed. "This is Erik Deveroux, Mrs. McRion!" Erik waved. I lowered my voice and stated, "That is Adriana McRion, Raoul's mother."

"All right," Erik said as we waved and turned to walk up the front walk of my house. "Now, would you have any idea as to what she meant by saying that Raoul would be happy to see you?"

"No."

"I think he is here."

"For what reason?"

"I do not know."

The first thing that came to my mind was Raoul's response to my response to Meg's package. _He came back to see if I am all right_, I thought.

But I did not expect to open my front door to see Raoul behind it.

"Hello, Christine," he greeted me, smiling.

I dropped my trunk.

"You're surprised, there's no doubt." Raoul then looked at Erik. "Who's he?"

"Erik Deveroux," Erik replied.

"English?"

"Seventy-five percent, thank you."

"What's the other twenty-five?"

"German."

We started our way into my house, Erik ahead of me. I had hardly grabbed a breath of the air in my much missed home when Raoul, behind me closing the door, pulled on my arm gently. I put my trunk down and both Erik and I turned.

"Step aside," Raoul told Erik as the door closed. Then he examined me, front first, and then he ordered me to 'turn.' When I faced him again, he put his hand on my head, made a straight horizontal line from the top of my head to his neck and said, "Nope, you are as short as can be, still," with a face as straight as a pen.

I gave a sigh of exasperation and showed Erik to my room. Once in, he asked, "Where may I sleep?"

"You are spending the night?"

"The week, if you will."

"Oh, Erik, why don't you tell me these things?"

"I wished to surprise you."

"If anything were to be a surprise," I said as I dropped the volume of my voice to a whisper, "it would be Raoul's appearance."

"Talking about me behind my back, Christine?" Raoul asked from the doorway of my bedroom. "Tsk tsk. So, anyway, what's he doing here?"

"Erik shall stay the week here," I reported as I set my trunk on the floor near my bed. Erik did the same with his smaller suitcase and followed me out. Raoul, still confused, tagged along behind Erik into the kitchen.

"So, who is Erik? An acquaintance? A beau? A husband?"

At the word 'husband' both Erik and I had strawberried faces.

"He is my _friend," _I fixed as I opened the beige cabinets and pulled out various food items. When Erik asked if I needed assistance, I told him to sit at the counter.

"Raoul, why are you here?" I asked.

"My father is ill."

I paused, and then said, "How many people do you know of who live in their empty neighbor's house on a visit to see their sick father, Erik?"

"None that I know of, Christine," Erik responded. "Because I see someone outside in the backyard at the moment." His stare was directed to the back doors.

I dropped the rag I was using to wipe the counters with and rushed to the door. Thomas was there, looking right at me. I turned to Raoul in anger and darkly asserted with anger, "You did not tell me that Thomas was here."

Raoul shrugged. "You didn't ask."

Thomas came in and gaped openly at me. "What is _she_ doing here?" he demanded authoritatively, clearly. As though… I did not belong. "And who is he?"

"I live here," I reminded him.

"Since when?"

"Since I was born."

"Oh, and where were you?'

"Vacation."

"Where vacation?"

"London."

"Oh, and where did you get the money? And who is he? You picked up a husband already?" My ears burned while Erik put his head on the counter. He lifted it and said, "I am Erik Deveroux."

"English?"

"Yes," Erik replied.

"Seventy-five percent English, twenty-five percent German, too," Raoul added knowingly. "Hey, do you speak German?"

"I know how to say shut up."

"And the money?" Thomas continued.

"I took what I saw."

"And I am not her husband," Erik said softly.

"Then what are you?" asked Thomas.

"Her friend."

I then brought up the subject on where everyone was sleeping. Raoul had taken Michael's room and Thomas his own. I would take mine, too, but they refused to let Erik stay in James' old room.

"He can't. His things are all there," Thomas said.

"So he had hardly a thing with him at the present?"

"Nope. James is a light traveler," Thomas explained.

"Traveler, you say. He came back here since he left, you think?"

"Well, before we did, yes," Raoul said.

"No! He did not!" I opposed. "Not while I was here."

"When did you leave?" Raoul leaned on the counter.

"The first of February."

"That's actually rather coincidental, Christine," Thomas said. "We came back on the second." The gleaming of the sunlight behind him that came through the door made him glow.

"And James has not been here?"

"No," the two said in unison.

"Then why don't we throw his things out?" I requested. "It is obvious he shall not be coming back, since he hates me so, being that he shot me—"

"_HE WHAT!"_ Thomas yelled in the midst of the silent conversation, while Raoul exclaimed, "With a gun?'

"Why, yes, but…" the words came out jumbled like woodblocks.

"When? Why? Where?" Raoul questioned loudly.

"In London…. Sometime in mid-February…after the ship voyage."

"The sixteenth to be exact," Erik added tensely

To everyone's surprise, Thomas lurched towards me and slapped my face, the force and unexpectedness so hard it pushed me to the ground. As I fell, I caught glimpse of Raoul's and Erik's eyes widen in disbelief. I stayed on the floor, in pain. Erik got up off his stool and helped me up carefully.

"Don't lie to me, Christine," Thomas ordered plainly.

"It's true," I said. Thomas folded his arms across his chest in denial. Raoul looked at me, then Erik, expecting something to be said.

"It's true," I repeated, with much more emphasis then the first time. Erik's face was shocked with sorrow and regret as to what he just saw. Gathering some breath, he opened his mouth and said, "I think you should believe her because I saw her fall and I heard the gunshot. I took her to my home and my mother cleaned her up."

Thomas still looked unconvinced. He turned his displeased glare from me to Erik, then me again. "Get out of my face," he commanded. I ran to my room on the verge of tears. Without turning, I heard Erik's running footsteps on the bare wooden floor. After I slammed my bedroom door and began crying onto my bed, the door opened, closed again, and Erik put his arms around me. I felt his handkerchief near my face. I took it and used it.

"Shall I leave?" Erik asked. "Back in New York I can—"

"No, I beg you… stay," I said softly, hiding my face.

"But I'll be disruptive to your… family."

"What _family_!" I sat up in a flash, spitting out the word 'family' like I did not know it. "I do not see any family. My parents are dead; my oldest brother married my best friend and they left me; my next oldest brother _shot_ me; and the last one thinks I am a liar. What else do you mean by saying that you would be disruptive to my _family_? Unless you have a way to Heaven where you can disrupt my mother and father, well…"

"Oh, shut up!"

My mouth shut in an instant. Shame overcame me, having just used sarcasm with Erik.

"I mean," he rushed on reassuringly, "well, I did not quite mean to cut you off so rudely. And yes, I will stay, I promise. The last thing I need is to go home knowing you are two weeks away unhappy." He hugged me tighter. I buried my face in his silky tie.

"I hate Thomas," I blurted out.

"If you must say so, fine, Christine, but I do not think that you do." He kissed the top of my head.

"I hate him still," I confirmed.

"I will not be the judge of that," he said as he lifted my head so that I was looking at his face.

Suddenly Thomas called through the door, "Don't just sit there moping, go make supper!"

"But I just got home!" I wanted to yell back. However, Thomas was gone to the kitchen or outside.

"I told you so. Thomas is a person worth hating in my book," I said.

"Are you coming, Shorty?" Raoul called. I got up and brushed myself off. Erik did the same.

"Duty calls," I said as I walked out. In the hallway Erik came up from behind me and snatched his handkerchief out of my hand, whispering, "I'll be taking that!" I was forced to smile nervously.

After I made the supper, I walked into the dining room with the food. Erik was standing, but Raoul and Thomas were seated. Thomas was at the head of the table, in Father's chair. I could have dropped what I was holding, but for some reason my shock turned to anger, and I grasped the pots' handles, wishing they were Thomas' neck.

"Wh-what are you doing…" I pondered when I managed to open my mouth.

"Sitting, waiting for you to serve supper."

"In Father's seat," I exhaled, nearly breathlessly.

He knew I was furious.

He did not move.

After I assured him to sit, Erik stared down at his plate in resent. I knew he was upset for having to meet my 'family' like this. I chose not to throw a fit, for his sake. Hurt, I served everyone and sat in the chair I had sat in for twenty-one years' worth of breakfasts, dinners and suppers. It felt good to be in this chair.

Supper was silently eaten. Afterwards, Raoul and Thomas got up and walked to their rooms to get ready for bed. I stared at them as they walked away.

They left the work for me. The table, littered with plates and food, was elsewhere deserted, had Erik not begun to pick up the plates.

"They treat you like Cinderella," he mumbled as he helped me clean the dishes.

I let some time to pass by, listening to the sound of running water and dishes clanking, noticing that Erik had rolled up his sleeves for this job. I had never seen anywhere past his wrists before. "Do Eve and your mother do all of the housework?"

"No, well, we had maids but they quit in early January. After a week of having to do everything ourselves, Father got so aggravated he took Edward, Marcie and Annie to France."

"Are any of them married?"

"No." He chuckled. "Eve is a stubborn brat. She refuses marriage as anyone would refuse a hammer in the head; so do not mention it to her. Marcie is just the same. Eve brainwashed her." He gave me a sly grin. "They are the largest feminists ever, and all the men are afraid of marrying someone so against men. Eve is a bit notorious. And Annie, well, she is rather old."

"No one wants her, either?"

"No one wants her, either."

Raoul walked in, then. "Hey, no lollygagging. You got to be quick with your work."

I very badly wanted to throw the plate I was holding in my hand at him.

"Well, don't just stand there," Raoul continued. "It's after eight, you know. Short people need their rest, too."

I know that the ending was a bit short, but it needed to be cut off here.

Please review!


	8. A Week of Bliss

Hey everybody! I'm sorry for the wait. I've been preoccupied with college applications. So here's my next chapter.

Erik slept on the floor of my bedroom that night in some old blankets. I felt terribly guilty. He should have been in my bed, and I should have been on the floor, but he said that girls do not belong on the floor.

When I woke, the first thing that I heard was, "Shut your eyes," said by Erik as though I should not see something. A few minutes, then, "All right," in the same English voice. I opened my eyes. Erik was fixing his tie in my mirror. He smiled, finished, and as he walked to my door, he said, "Just because I sleep in the same room as you do now does not mean you can see me put my clothes on." And he opened the door, walked out and closed the door behind him.

I sprung to my feet and then to the door but stopped midway to put my robe on. After that, I walked out to the kitchen, my bare feet slapping the bare floor. How could he be so… sick?

"Erik Harold…ooh… What is it?" I started. His laughter doubled. "Don't you laugh at me, whatever your full name is! I should slap you! Slap you so hard I'll blow you all the way back to London, making despicable jokes like that!

"I would like to see you try!"

"Oooh!"

"Oh, and by the way, my full name is Erik Harold McEndrick Deveroux," he said, mischievously grinning.

The front door opened.

"Oh, just…!" but Erik's teasing look made me stop.

Two people walked in.

"You sound just like Eve."

"I do not!"

"You do! She always…"

This time Erik paid attention to the two people. I, in a mood to yell for the fun of it, did not. "Eve is a stubborn brat. You yourself said so!"

Erik looked at the door. I did, too, finally.

Michael and Meg were there, standing in my house that they had deserted.

Raoul and Thomas came in from wherever. Raoul looked happy, as usual, Thomas did not. Michael was angry, somewhat. Meg was, well, different. She looked more mature. And shocked.

"Wha- what is she doing here?" Michael asked. "And-"

"I came home," I announced after gaining control of myself. I also supposed that they had been here too, after I had left.

"Why?"

"I live here."

"Who is he?" Michael asked. "I think-"

Erik walked around the counters to Michael and held his hand out. "You know me as Sixth Officer Deveroux. Erik Deveroux."

Michael shook hands. "Good to see you again, Mr. Deveroux. Coming here from England, aren't you?"

"Seventy-five percent English, twenty-five percent German, too," Raoul added. "And he can say 'shut up' in German." Erik put his hands over his face as everyone else turned heads to Raoul. He put is hands carelessly in his pockets and shrugged.

"And what brings you here, Mr. Deveroux, with my sister?" Michael inquired.

"I gotta leave," Raoul said. "I am on the verge of laughter." Then he went out back.

"A _tragic_ accident," Thomas blurted sarcastically. Now I did not expect him to believe my story anymore. Thomas would tell Michael what I had told him, and then they would laugh later.

Which was just what happened.

"What sort of tragic accident?" Michael asked.

"James shot Christine in the foot and Erik was her knight in armor and saved her," Thomas said, biting his lip.

A confused smile grew onto Michael's twenty-eight-year-old face. Meg's expression darkened. I shook my head in distaste and left to bathe.

When I got out of the bathroom to go to my room, I heard everyone talking together in the dining room. It was obvious that they were eating breakfast. I did not enter, but I heard:

"So, she just comes home with that wealthy Brit?" Michael asked.

"Yes," Thomas replied. "And he is constantly waiting on her. If you asked me, I don't think that she deserves him."

"Do you really think that they think of each other like that?" Raoul asked, "Christine doesn't know about…love and all that. She only knows how to cook, and that's good food, may I add, but she can't have some man pop out of nowhere."

"Well, look at the good side." Michael said. " If she wants, she'll go back to London and stay out of our lives. She never belonged, anyway. What do you think, Ann? Should we marry her off to an Englishman?"

"As Thomas said," Meg began, "I do not think she deserves him. She is less than he is, just as we are less than he is. He does not belong here. He should be in some fancy New York hotel drinking expensive champagne and acting snobbish."

If I did not bring myself to leaving at that moment, I would have rushed in and screamed in their faces. How dare they? How could they talk about Erik in that manner? Erik was anything but snobbish and if he were it would be as a joke. Such rudeness should not be tolerated. And yet I could not go in there and protest. Not while I was only in my robe, and I originally never had a say in anything. I would completely embarrass myself. Instead, I went and dressed.

Inside my room, I found a note, written in Erik's scribbled handwriting, as though he had been rushed.

_I have gone out. I will be back by noon._

_Erik_

Excellent, I thought disdainfully. I had to make breakfast for myself and eat it alone.

After I was fully clothes without my stockings, I examined my month-old scar from James' bullet. Even if this wound ever disappeared, I would have another scar, for my brother caused this wound. My heart was scarred as well.

The wound was reddish brown and shape like a circle-dot. It hurt so much, whether I touched it or not. I was, however, used to the pain. The clot was like a small knife settled in my foot. I had been walking on my toe for the time I had not used the crutches. I put on my slippers and walked out to the kitchen. My brothers were still at the dining table with Meg and Raoul, talking and laughing. I took some bread out of the basket and as I buttered it, Michael said, " Oh, your boyfriend left." Then the four of them laughed at the mockery. But when I turned around to look at them, I saw that Raoul was sulkily frowning. _Well, something_ _must be wrong with him,_ I said to myself.

"Hey," Thomas said, hitting Raoul on his arm. "Why aren't you laughing?"

Raoul shrugged his shoulders. "Wasn't much funny." Then he set his fork down and left the table, with food still on his plate.

"He must be sick," Michael noted. "Physically, I mean. He hasn't touched his food."

"He must be jealous of Mr. I-Love-Christine," Thomas whispered. The three laughed. I, still fuming, took my bread to my room and slammed the door.

"Well, you don't have to shake the house!" Thomas shouted. I heard Meg's joyous giggle and the clattering of plates.

"Shh," Michael commanded. "Don't shout like that. The house is too old to tolerate it." But that brought more laughter from them.

"Then why didn't the house collapse at Christine's door?" Thomas asked.

"Because Christine's door, like Christine herself, is as weak as that ugly gray cat sleeping on the counter," Michael informed everyone in between laughs. I remained in my room until I realized that Michael had said 'that ugly gray cat on the counter.' I rushed out of the room. There was Magic, sleeping where the sun hit the counter. That was his favorite spot, if not the desk chair in D-30 on the _Magic_.

"Get it off," Thomas groaned. He got up. "Do you really want cat hair in our food?"

"Are you the one making the food?" I asked bitterly. Then I took Magic off of the counter and set him on the floor. He shook his head, stretched and walked away.

"Is that Raoul chopping firewood?" Meg asked. Michael got up and pulled Thomas outside with him. Meg came to the kitchen. I gathered the dishes from the table and put them in the sink. Meg watched me. I cleaned the table and returned to the sink.

"You have changed, Christine," Meg spoke quietly.

I ignored her.

"Really, you have. Why do you limp like that as you walk?"

"I was shot in the foot," I whispered.

"So, it's true? Thomas wasn't being--"

"No, he was not!" I snapped. I turned the faucet on. Meg sat at the counter.

She looked uncomfortably at the counter. "So, who is Eve? The girl you were talking of before as we came in?"

"Erik's sister."

She looked down again. "Are you upset by my marriage to your brother?"

I have a half chuckle, half sigh. "That is a stupid question."

"So you are?"

"Would you be?"

Meg sighed. "I do not know. I do not have a brother or sister to know."

I shook my head in disgrace.

"Do you need my assistance?" she offered.

"I would prefer most to be alone now."

"Did James shoot you?"

"Yes, he did." _But now I doubt that you believe me._

Meg fell silent. _I hope that you are sensing the tension that I am,_ I thought. She seemed to.

"Would you have any idea why Raoul is chopping firewood in mid-March?"

"No."

"He looks angry," she commented as she gazed out the window from the counter.

"Why so?"

"He is not laughing with our brothers."

It occurred to me then that with Meg married, she had brothers and I had a sister.

The dishes washed, I wiped the counter, especially where Magic had sat.

"The cats grew," Meg said.

I suddenly wanted to ask where they had come from, but my anger at Meg held my tongue.

"Where is Bright? Do you call him that? And Magic?"

Bright would have most likely been on my bed. Magic would be there next to him, having been abruptly kicked out of his counter spot.

"You are not answering."

"I do not see the need."

"What has gotten into you?" she demanded. "You are pouting like a child! That is not acceptable!"

"Well, Meg," I spoke heatedly and quickly, "we all can't be as mature as you, you know." I put the cloth down and walked to my room, ignoring the look of stabbing pain on Meg's face.

I stayed on my bed for a minute until I decided that I should unpack my things and resettle. I noticed I had lost a blanket due to the fact that I had to empty space for Magic and Bright in my 'scraggly thing' to flee James' hideout. I would need another.

It took me great time to do the task of unpacking. I also rearranged the places of some of the things in my room, trying to change. I reorganized my closet, changed my sheets and fixed my crookedly placed desk by aligning it with the wall. I noted the dust that had coated over the three books and the small jewelry box I had left behind to go to England. While walking to the door to get a cloth to dust with, I realized that I was kicking dust along the dark floor. _All right, maybe I shall get a broom. There is no harm in doing that_.

When I was in the kitchen, Meg looked at me from outside. They were all sitting at our wooden table, darkened by mold, dirt and age. They seemed to be prying information out of Raoul, and he seemed reluctant.

The front door opened. I realized that there had been knocking and I had not responded. It was Erik, and I was relieved. I eagerly told him everything my brothers had said about him. To my surprise and amusement, he laughed. I asked why he had done so, and he said that he had anticipated this sort of reaction, after all I had said about them. Nonetheless, I was upset.

Michael and Meg spent three nights at my house in Michael's old bedroom. Raoul took the couch in the living room. Erik still bunked on my floor, while the words _guilt, guilt, guilt _would run through my head.

"Do you know," I told Erik on the Friday after Meg and Michael had left, "it hadn't occurred to me that you could have used the couch."

"Well, if you want me to, I'll go there," he said.

When he took some blankets to the couch that night, he did not look the slightest bit relieved. He obviously liked sleeping in the same room as me. However, I was relieved when I woke up on Saturday morning and Erik was not dressing himself.

We could not find a church that Erik would go to on Sunday, so we did not go. For the whole day, Erik was terribly depressed, thinking he was not being faithful. On Monday, he told me during breakfast that he had to leave that day. He had not signed on, and the train ride to New York would take long.

"Should have gone yesterday," he mumbled while packing in my room.

"Well, you were so busy moping about not going to church that…"

"How humorous!"

"I am being serious!" My smile shrunk when I saw Erik's frown. "Do you need anything from me?"

"Just be careful," he murmured.

"Just be careful? You do not want anything else?"

"No." He locked his trunk and picked it up. I followed him into the kitchen where he set the trunk on the floor of the counter. "Well," the smile returning to his face, he said, "I guess that I will need a bit of help on how to get a carriage."

I gave him directions. "Anything else?"

"No." After a moment, he said, "You sound very much like a waitress."

"Do I?"

"Yes, but I should imagine that you are used to it, correct?"

"I think so, waiting on my brothers since birth, almost."

"Oh, yeah," Raoul sneered, entering through the back door. "You've worked _so_ hard." He put his hand on the counter and leaned on it.

Erik sighed, and remarked accusingly, "I hope you have noticed that the whole time I have been here, I have been ignoring your cruelty to Christine and myself. I have tried, at least."

Raoul opened his mouth to speak.

Erik continued, "You could at least give it a rest. She has had a lot of trouble."

Raoul did not speak. He closed his mouth.

Erik picked up his trunk and walked to the door. With his grin, he said, "Good-bye, for now." He glanced at Raoul, who was still at the back door. "Maybe I'll see you soon."

I was the one to open the door for him.

"Good-bye," I said, closing the door as Erik walked down the street to find a coach.

Little did I know that by letting Erik go back to work, I was increasing Thomas' anger at me. I did not know why he was mad, but he was as he always had been towards me, grouchy and silent as a rat. He avoided my look and me for two weeks, in which I got used to my old life, cooking and cleaning for everyone, bit now everyone was just Thomas and Raoul.

In two weeks, I realized, Erik had finished his voyage to England. He was home, having arrived by the first or the second of April.

Raoul's mood was more cheerful by April. His appetite went back to normal, and his jokes and his eagerness to work around the house increased, too. He seemed to… appreciate me more. He often tried to bring joy to Thomas' face, but every time I walked into a room preoccupied by the both of them, Thomas' laughter would stop. In a way, Raoul and I were in a tug of war to keep Thomas in one mood; Raoul pulled for happiness, and I pulled for anger. Not that I did it intentionally. My mere existence annoyed Thomas, but he seemed to know that he could not throw me out because I would have nowhere to go and live. I certainly had no money for ship travel to Europe again, although I did think of that option. And if Erik came again, I would not use his money.

As far as I was with busying myself, that did not go all too bad. I did my chores and found myself spending time with Raoul. Yes, Raoul. Well, I tried to talk to my cats, but Raoul overheard me and then settled me down to tell me some gruesome stories about insane asylums. After that, my conversation was made only with Raoul if he were at home.

On the third day of April, a Thursday, Thomas opened his mouth to me, an action that shocked me, in a way. Because I had not anticipated him to storm through the front door that day after work at the furniture store to say, or actually yell, "That is it, young lady, you and I will talk right now!" As though it had been my fault that we had not been speaking to one another.

Raoul, at the dining table, was trying desperately to figure out how something worked for his job, and was quietly complaining to himself that he knew of no such thing and would never have the proper knowledge.

"What would you like to talk about?" I timidly inquired, putting my needlework materials in my basket to make room for him on the couch. Thomas did not sit on the couch next to me, though. He took a seat on the other side of the room and said, "Where _did _you get the money for England?"

"She pick pocketed the newspaper man," Raoul called to us sarcastically.

"You imbecile!" Thomas called back, annoyed. "It's called a newspaper boy, not man!"

"I told you I don't have the proper knowledge about these things. Don't jump on me."

I let out a giggle. Thomas turned to me and shot a glare: shut up.

I did.

"So, where did you get the money from?" he asked again.

"I took what I saw," I replied.

"FROM WHERE!"

Raoul jumped in his chair. "You don't have to jump on her, either."

Thomas turned to Raoul and said, "Rather than sitting there and wasting time, get up and do something constructive."

"Such as….?"

"Make supper."

I laughed at this one. Thomas did not stop me, though.

"And I am doing something _constructive. _I am desperately trying to decipher this odd system."

"Keep to yourself then."

Raoul added in a Southern twang, "And it's Christine's job to do the cooking 'round these parts." My laughter continued wildly while Thomas still maintained his 'Man of the house" attitude and groaned, "You said last night she should have a break, so why don't you give it to her?"

He did?

My laughs desisted completely. Both men fixed their stares on me. Thomas returned back to me and his interrogation.

"Back to why I am speaking to you. Whom did you take the money from?"

"Nobody in particular. I took all the money in the house," I told him.

"Oh," he breathed. "So you snooped around our rooms while we were gone?"

"Yes, I did. Do you mind?"

"Very much," Raoul cut in.

"You will close your mouth before I throw those papers into your mother's outhouse," Thomas ordered.

"Aww, you're too paranoid."

"Don't make me have to get up," Thomas threatened.

Raoul fell silent.

"And yes, Christine, I am quite disturbed that you poked around our bedrooms and took our money," Thomas informed me.

Raoul feigned a cry. Thomas and I took no notice of him.

I tried to defend myself. "Well, no one was home, and I presumed nobody would come back…."

"And James shot you?"

My expression froze; I felt it.

"He-"

"Tell me about it."

Raoul stopped what he was doing to listen. He stared down at the papers in front of him.

I told Thomas everything. From the last American newspaper I read to my second boarding of the _Magic_. And Thomas neither laughed nor struck me.

When I was finished, Thomas stayed silent as he had for the half hour it took me to tell him what he asked of me. I looked at Raoul. He was in the very same affixed position as when I had started speaking, as still as the papers on the table.

"Do you believe me, or not?" I asked.

"No, of course not." I immediately sighed and let my shoulders down from tension. "I want you to know that I don't believe you," he continued. He was not being sarcastic or wise. "I think that this is a stupid concoction of a story, a lousy excuse for some of my sympathy and attention. Now, I give you permission to clean up your things and make supper."

_He gives me _permission_ to make supper._ I got up and did as I was told, not wanting to incur my brother's anger once more.


	9. Never Mix Vodka and Lemonade

I am soooo sorry for the long wait guys. I have been SWAMPED with colleges and all that crap. So I hope you review after reading, and no flames please.

Two weeks after that lecture or argument or whatever, I received a letter from Eve. Why it was not Erik, who would miss me more than Eve would, I did not know. There was a photograph of the family with it.

_Dear Christine,_

_If you had been wondering, that is our family in the photo. Well, it is rather obvious, if you asked me. Mother and Father are in the center, I on the center top, Erik on my right, your left, and the other man, if anyone wants to call him that, is Edward. Marcie is my dark-haired sister, leaving Annie to be the beautiful blonde to my father's right. This photo was taken in January before Father, Edward, Marcie and Annie went to France._

_Erik is well. He spoke of you many times when he came back. He just left over a week ago to America again. Maybe he will visit you. How are you? I miss you. Did Erik behave himself while he was you guest? If he is too much for you to handle, he will let you throw him out of your house, so you should not let him be burden to you._

_At the arrival of my father, sisters and brother home from France, Mother and I let them know about you. Not to worry, however. They now think that you and Erik met on the ship and he brought you to my home. If my father knew that your brother shot you and you were traveling third class and then on our money in second class, he would not be too pleased. Is your foot all right? We should have taken you to a doctor. He would have taken better care of you. Not that I offend my mother as a nurse._

_Are the cats well? I missed Bright's calling for his supper at night. Do forgive me for bringing that up. I should think that the time difference had a larger effect on him than in did on you!_

_My sister Annie is now betrothed to Steven Wells. She is the first of us to be married. Steven is a friend of our family. Annie has had a fancy for him for quite a while. Do you have a mind to marry? I do not. I am one of noncommitment. I have often imagined you and Erik as one…however, Erik is much too immature for you, would you not think so? We tried to marry him to Belinda Spearson two years ago, but things ran amiss and she did not show up for the wedding at all, so Erik yelled at the guests in church. I think he will end up like me, whom nobody wants to marry. Shh, do not tell him I have said that._

_I hope you will come back to England some day in the future. I have been to America once, and I am not so fond of the place. Not as though America is a bad place, I would just prefer England because it is my home. You must meet the rest of our family, although I feel you have met the best part, that is Erik. Though he can be a dunce, I am somewhat proud to say I am his sister._

_Hope to see you soon,_

_Evelyn Deveroux_

Well, all of that talk of Erik being too immature to marry brought me to laugh. Of course, Raoul gave me a confused look from the kitchen as he ate dinner. Lately, neither he nor Thomas had been speaking to me.

I took my letter and picture to my room and sat on my bed. Had Eve not told me which man was which, I would have been lost. They looked almost exactly alike before I found out who was who. But then, I could tell the difference. It was a funny difference, too. Erik seemed to lack facial hair! Really, he did. I looked very closely. Edward had more years added into his face, and their hair was differently cut. As for Annie and Eve, the only blondes in the picture, did not look like twins. Eve's fashion was that of a matron of society. Annie dressed younger, as though she was eighteen. I knew that she was not, however. Erik was the youngest, and he was two years older than me. As for Marcie, well, she stood out. She was a bit stocky. Mr. Deveroux, the origin of Erik and Edward's looks, was gray haired like his wife in the black and white photo. Not black and white, actually. The photo was generally brown, really, everything in shades of brown or yellow. Not as though I would know much about film technologies.

Five days later was my father's birthday. I realized this in the evening when I started to make supper. _How old would he be? _I thought. _I should do something for him_, I decided, even though he was not there. I began pulling out all the food that went together. Raoul walked into the kitchen and stood next to me in front of the sink as I washed vegetables for a salad.

"What are you doing that involves all this food that Thomas and I work for?" he asked gently.

I looked at him. "Supper."

"Want help?"

"Not really-"

"I'll wash that," he said abruptly, yanking the tomato from me. My heart sped up. He was acting and looking at me the same way he had when I received the two cats. I turned away to start on the meatloaf.

"You're doing it again," Raoul said accusingly.

"Doing what?" I asked, not looking up from my work.

Raoul turned to me and gave me that mysterious look I had been afraid of every time I saw it. "Avoiding all eye contact with me when I'm nice to you. That is about the third time you've done it."

I could not give an answer. But, I knew what point he was trying to reach.

"Do you have a reason for avoiding me?"

He came closer. I stiffened as he held onto the counter.

_No, Christine, he will not do it._

"You do understand what is going on here, right?" His leg, bent backward, straightened forward.

_No, he will not do it._

"Are you going to answer me?"

'I- I cannot," I whispered.

He laughed. "You are just not like the others!"

The others? Who? I wanted to ask, but could not. Whom was I being compared to?"

"I mean, most women lie to make man look stupid. You just come out with a straight answer."

He knew I was afraid?

He leaned closer.

_He will not do it._

"Well? Answer me."

I could not.

Raoul did, as I predicted, move closer. His eyes closed.

"_IS SUPPER READY YET?"_ Thomas screamed from outside.

I turned tothe meatloaf and began my work. Raoul returned to the tomato.

An hour later, the food was on the table, and Raoul and I were seated across from one another. We had not spoken since Thomas encouraged us to work. I stared at the plate in front of me and wondered how it would be if Father was in his seat and Mother at the other end. But, no brothers. I had never liked living with them, and often wished they did not exist. I could not put a face on Mother, but her blond spirals stood out like fire in the dark room, for it would only be a candlelit dinner.

"Beautiful," Raoul said suddenly, in that odd tone as before. It was not an address, but a comment, and had it been an address to me, I would need smelling salts.

I did not ask what was beautiful, but I did look at him. He had been staring at me the entire time I was daydreaming, peacefully and without talk until 'beautiful.'

I just realized that he never spoke like that before.

"Oh," Thomas' voice sliced through the room, like the room was a freshly baked cake and Thomas was the knife. "Where- why's there all this food for-" he stuttered. Calming himself a little, he offered, "Want a drink?"

Shocked that he had asked to do a favor for me, I could not respond.

"She's going through spells. She doesn't answer questions," Raoul explained, his normal, sarcastic tone returning. "I'll have what you are having." He turned to me and leaned forward. "And what will our miss be having?" There was his 'beautiful' tone again.

"I made a pitcher of lemonade. I would like some of that."

Raoul laughed and sat back in his chair. "Really, Christine, you don't want _lemonade_ with a meal like this one. Have wine with I and Thomas."

"Thomas and _me_," Thomas said. He pulled out wine I never knew we owned.

I looked displeased.

"Get her lemonade," Raoul ordered Thomas. He turned around to me once more and said, "You don't have to have wine. You wouldn't like it much."

We sat in quietness, waiting for Thomas to finish preparing our drinks. Raoul began drumming the edges of the table with his hands gently, staring at me again. His fidgeting mixed with the background noises of clattering and clanking.

Finished, Thomas came over with the wine. He went back to the kitchen and got my lemonade. When he set it in front of me, Raoul said, "Lemonade is good, too."

I wanted to ask Thomas, "Do you at all notice his change if the tone of his voice?" Because it was there, and it was slightly bothering. I also did not understand why they were making a fuss over what I drank.

I raised my glass to my mouth and let in a small sip. Now Thomas was looking at me. Not wanting to be rude to him, as always, I did not tell him of the taste difference. We started eating. I served them, them when I sat, Thomas began talking about Raoul's quitting his job.

"You should keep to one profession, Raoul. Stop bouncing back and forth, and do stop working for Mr. Brown. He is not a suitable character and employer for someone with as much energy as you."

"He gives me a good pay for his errands," Raoul said defensively.

"And the job at the ice cream parlor wasn't good enough for you to stay with?"

"Hey! With all this new income tax business, I want a good income. Good incomes come from good jobs. I am going to stick with Mr. Brown until I find something good. I left the ice cream parlor to look for something else."

"Shouldn't you quit one job _after_ finding a better one?" I blurted aloud. The two looked at me, Thomas once again thinking that I was not permitted to ever speak. There was a moment of a loud silence.

Then, Raoul began to snicker.

"What's funny about that?" I asked, taking another sip of my drink. "I spoke! So? What of it? What about freedom of speech?"

Thomas started to laugh with Raoul. I, not wanting to be left out, laughed with them. The three of us ate supper in laughs, making fun of each other. At the end, Thomas cleaned the table and the dishes, and then left us with more wine and lemonade.

"This lemonade is good, Raoul," I told him. "You should have some." And before he could protest, my glass was in his hand. He took some and gave it back, then started to laugh again.

"What?"

"It's good! Have some wine."

"But you said…"

"Never mind. Here." I took a small sip. There was a sharp taste. I had never had wine before, or any other alcohol. It tasted very much like grape juice, of course, but with alcohol. Not that bad, actually. I took more, until the glass was finished. Raoul watched with disbelieving eyes, until we began to laugh again. He got up and poured two glasses of wine, while I finished my lemonade. I got up and walked to Raoul. He put the glass in my hand and held his in the air. I did the same.

"To…uh…" he tried.

"To Michael!" I shouted. We clanked our glasses and drank.

We sat on the couch next. Raoul's free hand was on my skirt, fingering the cotton material. We drank more.

"I think you should go back to your ice cream parlor," I suggested.

"I wish I owned it!" Raoul cried out. "I'd be rich!"

I threw him a look.

"_We_ would be rich," he corrected himself. "Of course I would share with you and Thomas." He got up. "Want more?"

"Sure."

"How about this, instead?"

I looked at Raoul in the kitchen. He held up a bottle of something. I stood to get a better look at it. "What is that?"

"Vodka. You want some?"

"Oh, alright. I suppose it shouldn't hurt." I did not know why, but I felt very much like trusting him right now.

He came back with two glasses and we finished it in ten minutes or whenever. Then he held up the bottle of wine. "We should finish this, you know. Since we will not be having any for a while again, we shouldn't let it go bad."

"Okay." I put some in our vodka glasses and we drank the remaining four cups in the bottle of wine. After that, my head fell onto his shoulder.

"Christine's tired," Raoul said, the sarcasm returning to his voice, as before it was gone.

"Yes. Too much grapes." I lifted my head. He looked deep into me, his grin being of pride.

It was as though a new light had been turned on. I never thought he was bad looking. Yes, he was not so bad after all.

We leaned closer and closer…

When I realized that we were kissing, I did not stop myself. It was… wild. Our legs somehow got entangled in my skirts, and somehow I found him on top of me.

Raoul lifted his head. It seemed as though I had slept for an hour. It was dark, except for the candle burning on the counter in the kitchen.

"Are you okay?" he asked. I felt dead. Then I felt a kiss on my mouth. My eyes opened wide. I saw Raoul. Was he on top of me? Yes, he was.

"Beautiful," he rumbled. Was he addressing me? I hoped not. I was kissed again. _No. I don't want to be kissed. I am too tired. _He pushed my hair back from my sweaty forehead and kissed it. "What's wrong?"

What's wrong? What happened, anyway?

"Are you going to bed with me?" he asked.

My head lifted entirely. Raoul got off and stumbled into the kitchen. I got up and did literally the same as he, and sat at the counter.

"Tired?" I heard him asked as I lay my head down.

"Extremely," I muttered into the sleeve of my dress. Raoul put his arm around me and stroked my arm. His head was near mine on my arm, his face in front of mine.

"Do you know what I want? I mean, really want?" he asked in a whisper. I gave a small sound, too tired to speak.

In the lowest whisper that sounded more like an itch in my ear, he said, "You."

His hand went down my back, along the buttons of my dress. I winced, but, still too tired, I closed my eyes. His hand then went around my waist, pulling me closer to him on my seat, and his lips went to mine.

The clock stroked ten or eleven or thirteen strokes… I could not count. Raoul detached himself from me and murmured, "I'll be going to bed." He got up and started to his room before turning around, then mumbling something that sounded like, "Want to come?"

I did not know. A bed sounded nice. I would not have minded a bed. Any bed. His or mine. But my head pounded so hard. Raoul was gone. And I fell asleep at the counter.

There was a churning movement. Down below. My stomach? Well, my stomach moved. I was touched on my shoulder. That touch was like a magic wand that made me feel that I was coming to life. Yes, I was coming to life again. I had been sleeping. And something was near me, but I saw only black.

My head was being touched, too. Petted, I realized, the same way I pet my cats. Was I dreaming? No… there was a presence of someone else there, although black it was, it existed, and it was oddly familiar.

"Christine?"

_Who is Christine? What is Christine?_

My head still could not lift itself. I still could not sense who was there. My eyes were closed, I heard everything as though it was miles away, my brain was clogged with bed sheets and my stomach hurt like I had eaten three rocks.

"Christine? Are you all right?"

It sounded very much like 'Ah yoo awl roite?'

It could not speak English correctly.

"My God, Christine, are you dead?" It sounded male. He was speaking English in a strange way. The petting of my hair continued in silence, until he said, "Well, you are breathing fine. Are you sick?"

"No," I whispered lightly in a breath.

"Ah, so you can still speak."

Was he making fun of me?

"Hello. Are you in there? What did your brothers do to you in my absence, anyway?"

_Stop talking too fast!_

He did not. I felt his face next to mine, and heard a deep sniff"Jesus Christ," he whispered, "you have been drinking wine."

_Who was he?_ I wanted to stomp my foot down in anger, but could not. And my stomach hurt in the midst of the heat.

"Holy God, you probably do not even know it is me."

I knew him?

"It is Erik."

I sat bolt upright, sending him backward, and looked at him. He did not fall; he just was shocked at my sudden movement, as I was shocked that he was _there_.

But before either of us could say anything, I jumped off of the chair with a sudden rush of energy and ran out the back door. My stomach started to reverse. I felt my insides guiding everything up. I made my way to the old outhouse and let out my entire dinner I had made for Father.

On my knees, I vomited, then wearily washed from the rust encrusted faucet in the ground. Weak as a rag, I fell back onto the grass, wanting to sleep, but I was now being lifted up and carried back into my house, by Erik.

I was placed on my bed, gently and lovingly. I felt the light being turned on and the door being closed.

"Now, Christine, you must undress yourself. That is not for me to do and you know it."

I heard him moving about a little. Despite my headache and my weak, dysfunctional body, I opened my eyes. I saw Erik next to my bed.

"What happened?" he asked, taking my hand.

"I…" needed more breath. "I am not sure."

"You were drinking."

"I was?"

"Yes, you were. Why would you be having wine today, anyway? And with vodka? No one does that. That is a horrible combination."

"I never had wine before."

He chuckled a brief "ha."

"What?"

"You have completely overloaded yourself with it tonight. Why?"

"I don't _know_…"

"You need to go to bed."

"I do?"

He got up. I realized how I had been waiting for this time to come, for him to come back, and he had to see me like this. I could not even get up to get the blankets for his bed on the couch.

"Where is your nightgown?"

I gave him a terrified look.

"No, no, no, I shan't…" he started, reading my mind and face. "I do not want you to get up. I shall not-"

"But you do want to," I blurted out. His face color changed, and he turned his glare from me and scratched the back of his neck, most likely in shame.

I got up. Immediately he came to flank me, grabbing me by the shoulders so as to not let me fall. "Do not _do_ that," he ordered, "You are now supposedly dead, remember?"

"I am _not_."

"And I am sorry about your nightgown."

"It's all right."

Erik sat me on my bed. "Again, where is your nightgown?"

"In my top drawer." With my undergarments.

"Is there anything in there that you do not want me to see?"

I tried to get up, but he stopped me, and gently put me back down. He grinned. "You are a very stubborn person, you know."

"I don't want you to see…"

"I know—all right. Up you go." I got up and he put his arm around me.

"I am not a cripple, you know. I am not ill, either."

"But you are drunk. I have had a lot of experience with troublesome drunken sailors. Do not tell me that I do not know what I am doing."

"I can walk," I persisted. "And I'm not a trouble drunk sailor…"

"You are even slurring your words…" I did not know what he was talking about. He took me to my bureau and turned away, with his left hand still on me. I removed my nightgown and slammed the drawer before he could look.

"Should I hit you with this?" I asked.

"You'll put it on." He guided me back to my bed, went to the bureau again and hid his face in his hands. With his back turned to me, I changed in five minutes, my fastest ever.

"Are you finished yet?"

"Yes."

He turned around and put me in bed, then as he turned to leave, I said, "What about you, what are you going to do?"

"I am going to the couch."

"The blankets…"

"Yes. I know where they are. Go to sleep." He left. I fell asleep.


End file.
